Miriel: Princess of Rohan
by Jazzcat
Summary: A peasant from Rohan almost singlehandedly destroyed Middle-earth. Failing that, Miriel then became part of Middle-earth's history and forgotten legends.
1. A QUIET EVENING

_Miriel: Princess of Rohan arose as the answer to several questions I had about different events that took place in both the books and the movies, beginning at Helm's Deep and finishing out a year after The Return of the King officially ends._

**A QUIET EVENING**

"Miriel, set the table. Supper is almost ready."

Obediently the girl called Miriel headed for the kitchen, glancing back with a little smile at her mother. The fire cast a warm orange glow over her mother's bright face and slim figure as she knelt by the hearth, clad in a simple gray dress that was neatly patched and mended many times over with an assortment of cloth squares in many colors. Her mother wore a clean white apron to protect her dress while she stirred a great pot of stew. A hearty aroma filled the simple and rather plain room, which was furnished only by a bare wooden table and a few hard chairs.

Miriel knew without asking what kind of stew brewed in the pot. It was the same stew their family had been eating for supper as long as Miriel could remember. It was delicious, and Miriel never tired of it; which was good since there was never a change in their diet. It had a little meat and some vegetables, but it was mostly a thick brown gravy that was, as far as Miriel could tell, her mother's special recipe. None of the other villagers made their stew like Miriel's mother did, and that made Miriel sure that her mother was special.

Miriel opened the cupboard and pulled out five sets of plates, cups, forks, spoons and knives, and then somehow Miriel managed to delicately balance a little board containing a few hard biscuits and a bit of cheese upon the unsteady tower of dishes. Carefully she carried them out to the square table and quickly set the places for herself and her mother, her father and her two older brothers. All three of the family men were out working in the fields and would be returning shortly, just in time for supper.

When she finished setting the table, Miriel straightened and glanced around the little room as if for the first time, seeing it with new eyes. They led a simple, comfortable, uneventful, happy life - filled with a lot of hard work, to be sure, and the normal concerns about making ends meet, and no sign of changing at any point in the future; but it was a happy life just the same. Miriel went to the fireplace and knelt at her mother's side. She sat back on her heels and cleared her throat to ask a question.

"Mother, I want to know something about love," Miriel said quietly.

Miriel's mother glanced at her daughter. Surprise flickered in her emerald eyes and played behind her merry smile. It was a loaded question that could lead anywhere.

"Sure, anything," she answered immediately out of habit. Children could ask the oddest things at the times when she least expected it, which she had learned after raising three of them nearly to adulthood. She had long since ceased even trying to guess what the next words out of Miriel's mouth would be. So she listened with an open mind and no predetermined opinions while continuing a methodical stirring of her brown aromatic stew.

"I'm concerned about finding true love," Miriel began, settling herself on the dirt floor and looking up at her mother with an innocently appealing doe-like expression in her large silver-gray eyes. "There are nice enough young men in this village, but I don't really connect with any of them. I want to know how I can find true love. After all, I'm just a plain peasant girl in an insignificant village hidden away in the farthest corner of Rohan."

"Ah!" returned her mother. She glanced at Miriel with a knowing grin. "I had the very same concerns when I was your age, even living in Edoras, the capitol of Rohan. I know Edoras seems like the center of the universe compared to here, but Edoras is actually quite small and would not be in any way special if it weren't for the King's palace: Meduseld, the Golden Hall.

"In my youth, I lived with my family in Edoras. I was the youngest of eight children. As soon as I was old enough, I became a maidservant to Queen Elfhild, the wife of King Theoden. She and the King loved each other very much. The Queen was wonderful, and she was greatly loved by all the people of Rohan. I could not have served anyone so kind or gentle, and I thoroughly enjoyed the years I spent with the Lady Elfhild at Meduseld. She could be wise and queenly, but she was also very down-to-earth, and no one, no matter how great or lowly, ever felt uncomfortable in her presence. She used to confide in me, and I in her. We became close friends.

"I remember one day when she came flying down a stone staircase with a smile like the sunshine in springtime and her golden hair billowing in her wake. She rushed toward me, shouting my name.

"'Rowen! Rowen!' she cried, seeming to forget her queenly dignity for a moment in her excitement, and yet never losing her unfailing poise and grace. 'I'm going to have a baby! I'm about to become a mother!'"

Miriel's mother paused, smiling tenderly at the memory and stirring the pot while the soft firelight turned her dark hair to bright gold.

Miriel rejoiced inwardly. She could see that her mother, Rowen, was wound up and preparing to tell one of her delightful tales from her days at the palace in the city of Edoras. Although Miriel had heard every story dozens of times, she never tired of them. Miriel lost herself in the enchanted ambience of the Golden Hall: The splendid feasts attended by fair lords and lovely ladies from all over Middle-earth, princes and princesses clad in rainbows of vibrant colors and bedecked in rare jewels set in gold and silver, while jugglers and jesters entertained them and beautiful music filled the air.

Miriel imagined herself in the magical atmosphere among the perfumed throngs, clothed in a flowing dress of deep midnight blue trimmed with rivers of white lace shimmering with silver stars, eating delectable dishes and tasting the delicate wines while minstrels sang songs of faraway lands and valiant deeds of noble knights. They told of myths and legends out of the Dark Years, of heroes and villains and outlaws, of doomed quests and vast treasures hidden away in dark caves, of epic battles with dragons and trolls, and the rescue of many a fair damsel in distress, perhaps locked up in a stone tower by some tyrant lord or held hostage by a terrible beast.

Inevitably, the hero would slay the evil monster and carry the lady away to his castle, where they married and lived happily ever after.

They spoke at length of the downfall of Numenor, also called Westernesse, which was swallowed by the Sea. King Elendil sailed away from the devastated land of Numenor and emerged in the land of Gondor, which bordered Rohan. He was a good king, and peace reigned while he and his heirs sat on the throne. But the last king, Isildur, went away to war and did not return. Gondor was currently under the care of Stewards until the rightful King should be revealed and return to his inheritance.

But Miriel's favorite tales concerned the other races of Middle-earth. There were the Dwarves, a short, sturdy race of bearded creatures who delved deep under the mountains in search of gold and diamonds and other precious metals. They were cunning folk with stonework and created beautiful jewelry. The minstrels told of great stone halls where the Dwarf-kings dwelt, and endless caverns of crystal veined with silver, and perfectly still underground lakes that mirrored stars and fire but would not show you your own reflection.

Then there were the Elves.

Elves were immortal. Elves were fair. Elves were wise. Of all the creatures of Middle-earth, the Elves seemed to be the greatest. They loved flowers and trees and every living thing. They spent their days dancing among the golden trees called mallorns, flitting among the shadows under silvery starlight and singing. By all accounts, Elves had enchanting voices, and some people thought that you could fall under a spell if you heard one of their songs. When the Elves grew weary of their days in Middle-earth, they were permitted to take a ship and sail into the West, to the land of Valinor, which was the paradise that awaited them.

Few were the legends of these elusive, beautiful, ageless creatures that lived in the forest and easily vanished from sight, but they were by far the best stories. There was the tale of Luthien Tinuviel, the fairest Elf that ever walked in Middle-earth. She fell in love with a mortal named Beren and was lost to Elven-kind forever. Earendil was a mariner, and he sailed away long ago to Valinor with a brilliant jewel, a silmaril, on his brow. The silmaril was set in the heavens as a star to bring hope to those in Middle-earth. Gil-galad was an Elven-king who fought in the first war against the Dark Lord, Sauron. He was victorious, but perished in the fight.

Elves were so rarely seen that many people doubted their existence, believing that the colorful stories had merely been invented. Others thought that the Elves had long since forsaken Middle-earth, and the few sightings had been visions and empty shadows of things as they once were. Rowen, Miriel's mother, had never met an Elf during her time in Edoras, and she was not sure if Elves were real or not.

Miriel, on the other hand, believed wholeheartedly in Elves. She longed to meet one someday, and, even though she knew it was quite impossible since mortals are forbidden to set foot in the Undying Lands, Miriel wished she could sail into the West and see the enchanted land of Valinor.

Miriel returned to the present. She folded her hands in her lap and waited expectantly.

"I was just as thrilled that Queen Elfhild was with child as the Lady herself was," Rowen was saying. "I tended her with special care in the months that followed. But when the time came for the baby to be born, the Queen died in labor.

"I was devastated. King Theoden was disconsolate. The whole of Rohan mourned. And the child, a strong, healthy boy named Theodred, entered the world without a mother.

"So I raised young Theodred myself. When he was old enough, I taught him fair speech, manners, and how to read and write, the same as I have taught you. The only things I did not teach him were swordsmanship and the arts of war. I left that special training to others more skilled in the craft, although I picked up plenty along the way and passed the knowledge on to the three of you children."

Miriel began to wonder where her mother was leading with her story, but she listened intently in case she missed a clue.

"One day when I was running an errand, I met your father, Elidan, in the marketplace. I can't even explain what it was like, Miriel, but one look passed between us and I knew. I just knew."

"What did you see?" ventured Miriel, staring at her mother in rapt fascination.

"I don't rightly know," sighed Rowen. "I saw myself mirrored in his eyes. I saw the future, and, if I may say so, it even seemed as if I saw the three of you children. I just knew that he was the one."

"Did Father know it too?" Miriel asked.

Rowen smiled.

"Yes, he did. He asked me to marry him after only a few short days."

"And you accepted?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn't be here, and neither would you," answered Rowen with a laugh, but a shadow passed over her face. "Not right away, though. I had a good life in Edoras, and living at Meduseld was the best thing I could ever have hoped to attain for myself. If I married Elidan, I would give up everything, and leave behind all my royal friends, and the King, and young Theodred, and choose to live as a peasant instead. That was a hard decision to have to make, and a senseless one at that."

Miriel had heard the story many times, but Rowen had never told it in that light before. Miriel frowned.

"Then why did you choose the peasant life?" she asked.

"Because true love is the most precious thing anyone can hope to obtain in this life," Rowen replied, smiling down at Miriel. "When you find it, give up everything to obtain it! True love is worth far more than prosperity or riches or gold or silver, or even life itself. Love does not always make sense, Miriel, and do remember that. It took me awhile to realize this, longer than Elidan would have liked, I know," she added with a little laugh. "And if you can believe it, Miriel, I am happier here than I ever was in the palace, even though this is a much harder way of life."

Miriel looked at her mother with a renewed sense of awe.

"Some, and perhaps most, of the people living in this village would probably disagree with me," Rowen continued. She stood up and brushed off her apron as she swept the plain room with a glance. "But I would not give this up for anything. Who cares that I traded the feasts of royalty for beef stew? I found my real treasure here, in this bare little cottage, with a wonderful husband and three precious children. I have no regrets."

Miriel blushed and lowered her gaze, but her eyes were sparkling. Rowen looked down at Miriel with an odd light in her green eyes, as if she coming to a decision. Suddenly she turned and reached for something on the mantle.

"Speaking of treasure-" Rowen murmured, then broke off.

"What are you doing?" asked Miriel.

Without a word Rowen lifted an earthen jar and picked up an object that had been hidden beneath it. Miriel caught a faint sparkle in her mother's hand before it was quickly covered over by Rowen's fingers. Suddenly aware that Rowen had something very special, Miriel eagerly scrambled to her feet. Rowen dropped a silver ring into Miriel's outstretched palm.

"What is this?" wondered Miriel, examining the smooth, jewelless ring curved in the shape of a little star.

"That ring," answered Rowen a little breathlessly, brushing a stray lock of hair back from her forehead, "was given to me by the Queen just before she died. I've been saving it and waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you, and I felt the time has come for you to have it."

"Oh," was all Miriel managed to say. "What is it?"

"I was kneeling at the Queen's bedside, drowning in floods of tears, when Lady Elfhild took it from her finger and gave it into my trembling hand," Rowen replied. Her distant eyes saw a land and a time from far away as she spoke. "'Take this and be comforted,' she whispered to me. 'It was wrought in Numenor, or so 'tis said. It is supposed to protect the wearer from any weapons of Man's making. I will no longer need it now, but I want you to have it in memory of me. Give it to your own daughter someday,' she added wistfully, and I knew she was thinking sadly that she would never see my daughter. Then she struggled toward me and gripped my hand tightly and said to me, 'Rowen, Rowen. I wish you love!' Those were her last words, and then she fell away into sleep."

Rowen faltered, choked with emotion. Miriel tentatively touched the silver ring in her palm with reverence, and then slipped it onto her finger. It fit, but barely. It was made for a larger finger than hers. It was perhaps a half size too large, but Miriel cared not for that.

"I will treasure it forever," Miriel declared solemnly. Rowen smiled through her tears. Suddenly there was a popping noise from the fireplace. Instantly Rowen remembered her stew and looked down at it. It was bubbling violently and exploding in the pot.

"Oh my, it's boiling!" she cried, falling on her knees and stirring madly. Immediately the bubbling subsided. Rowen brushed away her tears and glanced up at Miriel with a sheepish grin.

"I forgot all about supper," she explained with a little smile. "I have never burnt my stew, not even once, and I want to continue my perfect record! But it's ready now, so be a dear and greet your father and your brothers when they come in from the fields."

"Of course, of course," answered Miriel distantly, for her mind, and her fingers, were still on the precious ring. She moved slowly toward the door and put her hand on the latch, and then stopped. Miriel turned to find her mother watching her and smiling, absently stirring the stew.

"I never knew that part of your story, mother," Miriel said quietly. "And it all turned out wonderfully for you. But how do you know that my story will have a happy ending? Will I ever find true love?"

Rowen stood up with a knowing smile on her face. She crossed the room and kissed Miriel lightly on the forehead.

"Don't worry. Love always finds a way, in its own time. Until then, Miriel, know that I love you. Just dance."

Miriel glanced down at the silver ring glinting in the firelight, and it seemed to her that it held the promise of her mother's words.

"Thank you," Miriel whispered, and then she was gone.

**There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**


	2. RED SUNSET

**RED SUNSET**

It was the golden hour before sunset, as deadly quiet as the calm before the storm. It was a normal sort of twilight, with the gathering darkness casting a spell of enchantment over the land and a chorus of crickets singing the world to sleep. Night-owls awoke and stood unseen in the thick branches of the trees, preparing for the evening hunt. The last rays of fading sunlight fell upon the small village tucked away in the hills of the land of Rohan. The workday had ended, and the entire village was still and silent, preparing their meals and resting.

But the swiftly vanishing light caught upon a sudden movement. A lone maiden was stealing out her door, clad in a simple dark dress and a matching cloak made of rough gray material. Miriel dashed up the dusty lane with her mother's words still ringing in her ears, and her light step hardly left a print in the loose dirt. When she reached the crest of the hill where the wild winds blew free and the grasses bent before her feet, the young girl stopped and spread her arms wide, glorying in the swift breeze as she danced upon the hill.

The white flowers sprang softly around her ankles as Miriel twirled and leapt over the sun-tinged hills with her long dark hair flying about her like streamers of gold and shadow. At last, when her exuberance was spent, she flopped down breathlessly in the grass and picked a handful of snow-white flowers for her mother, and she noticed for the first time how the setting sun lit the white balls of dandelion fluff into glowing pixie dust of silver and gold, and the wind waved them back and forth like sparkles of magic that played among the fields. Miriel picked one of the dandelions and blew on it and watched the little white parachutes go floating away on the breeze until they were lost from sight.

Miriel stood up and looked toward the west. She was shocked to see that the clouds burned a deep blood red. A black bank of clouds boiled threateningly on the horizon like sky giants leaping and falling, foreboding a coming storm. The once-gentle wind abruptly changed and blasted fiercely at Miriel, hitting her like a knife and driving before it swarms of dry leaves that clattered across the ground in their wild haste to flee.

Miriel stared at the ominous skies as she climbed to her feet and brushed the grass and stickers from her rough dress. She had never seen such a sunset in her life. Rather than filling her with awe and wonder, as it usually did, her spirit quailed as if she were standing upon the brink of grave danger and facing an unknown dread.

Before Miriel could consider the strange skies any further, she heard a shout behind her. Turning, she beheld three figures wearily trudging up the path that led toward her and the village.

"Father! Brothers!" Miriel cried joyfully, gathering her skirts and rushing down to meet them.

"Miriel, my darling!" greeted her father, catching the girl in his arms. "This is the perfect end to any day!"

Miriel pulled away and gave him a big smile as they headed homeward.

"You worked late again today," she told him, prancing like a fawn at his side.

"Always," replied her father lightly, playfully ruffling her dark, windswept hair.

"Everyone else made it home from the fields over an hour ago," Miriel reproached.

Her father grinned down at her.

"Why do you think we have twice the harvest they do every season? Wheat doesn't grow half so well when you sit cross-legged at home in an easy chair, relaxing and smoking a pipe!"

Miriel laughed merrily.

"But it is hungry labor," added her father, sobering. "Is supper ready?"

"As always," Miriel replied pointedly. "When have you ever known Mother to be late?"

It was her father's turn to laugh. Miriel turned to her brothers with a sly twinkle in her eye and put her hand behind her back. Suddenly she drew forth three shining, dull-bladed swords that had been hidden in her cloak.

"I thought we could get in a little practice before supper," said Miriel, tossing each brother a sword.

"Not a chance," returned the younger of the two. He was a quiet, serious, thoughtful boy who rarely caused any trouble. He quickly tucked the weapon into his belt. "I'm going straight in to eat."

"You're just worried that I'll beat you again, Elidor," teased Miriel. Elidor made no reply, which was typical of him. Miriel often wondered how Elidor could be so calm and passive when she herself, given the same challenge, would have given a fiery reaction to the insult and jumped up bristling, instantly ready for a fight.

Miriel turned from Elidor and looked at her other brother expectantly.

"What about you, Alastar? Are you greatly suffering from lack of food also?"

"And drink," sighed Alastar wearily, but he was smiling. "I guess I could spare a game with you. But just one!" he added quickly.

"All right!" Miriel whooped joyfully. She rushed up to the top of the hill, then lifted her sword and crouched into fighting position. Alastar stopped and faced her with his own sword drawn.

"Don't be long," their father advised as he and Elidor passed them by.

"It shall be a swiftly concluded battle," Alastar promised, swinging his sword so that it whistled through the air.

Miriel raised her eyebrows.

"Oh is that so? That's wishful thinking on your part, Alastar. This fight will be short indeed, but only if you beg for mercy!"

With that she suddenly lunged at him, and Alastar was caught off guard. Alastar barely managed to parry out of the way. The sound of swords clicking together, gay laughter and cheery shouts floated over the village. Brother and sister battled back and forth over the hilltop until both were quite winded. Alastar raised his hand for a temporary truce.

"Peace a minute!" Alastar gasped, leaning wearily on the hilt of his sword.

"All right, I grant you a minute," consented Miriel grudgingly. She backed away and watched her grinning brother while he caught his breath.

"At least I'll wear you out so Elidor can beat you later," panted Alastar.

"What! You? Wear me out?" Miriel cried in mock disbelief. She stepped forward and her gray eyes flashed. "Do you know how hard it is to wear me out? I'm tireless! I'm agile and quick! I could fight all night!" And with that she plunged after Alastar.

"Yeah, but you didn't work in the fields all day," retorted Alastar as he ducked and defended himself. "But your footwork is improving. You're pretty strong, for a girl. I'll give you that."

Alastar flashed a mischievous grin and tried to pull a fake slice on Miriel, and then like lightning he struck from the opposite direction. But Miriel leapt aside and with a sudden twist she threw the sword from his hand. It landed softly in a thick bed of weeds some distance away. Alastar looked startled, and Miriel threw back her head and shouted victoriously. She leaped into the air and pranced lightly around him.

"Alright, you win," conceded Alastar, grinning and lifting his hands in defeat.

Suddenly Miriel stopped and stared down her brother.

" 'For a girl'?" Miriel advanced on him, and her sword was still raised. "What do you mean, 'for a girl?' I'm just strong! Admit it! I have to be, to keep you two in line!"

"What? You, keep us in line?" gasped Alastar incredulously. "But you're the youngest!"

Miriel lowered her blade, still smirking playfully. "Everyone knows it's the girl's job to make the boys stay out of trouble, no matter how old they are!"

"You'd better watch it!" Alastar cried. He rushed forward and caught her in his arms, pinning her sword harmlessly to her side. Before Miriel could do anything she was hoisted onto his broad shoulder and swung through the air.

Miriel was wildly giddy and full of butterflies at being thus caught off guard.

"Stop it!" she shrieked, and she laughed and hollered to be put down. Alastar spun her until she was dizzy and giggling helplessly. Her long dark hair flew into her face and blinded her.

Abruptly Alastar stopped dead. Miriel's heart caught in her throat as she felt him go still and cold. Alastar stood staring wide-eyed at the western horizon. His hands loosened from her waist, and Miriel slipped shakily to the ground and impatiently pushed her thick mane out of her face.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" she asked, feeling a sudden chill of dread creeping over her as she looked upon Alastar's pale face. Alastar had gone chalk white, and he wordlessly pointed. Then Miriel also turned and looked into the sunset.

A lone rider could be seen against the reddened skies galloping towards them. His green cloak was in tatters and the shreds flew wildly around him. His bay horse looked sweaty and exhausted, but still the man on its back whipped it with might and main to move faster. Miriel saw a great cloud of smoke rising behind the hills.

In a single jump Alastar was running full speed down the lane, and Miriel leapt after him. They shot past silent houses and arrived at the edge of the village as the mysterious rider rushed up to them.

"Orcs! Orcs are coming!" he shouted, pulling his foaming horse to an abrupt halt before Alastar and Miriel. "Don't wait to gather anything. Flee at once! They're burning and slaughtering, and they're not far behind me!"

With that the man spurred the poor beast through the town. Bewildered people poured out of cottages to see what the noise was about. The rider repeated his grim warning as he bolted away and disappeared into the gathering twilight.

Miriel felt as if her breath were stolen away. Everyone knew the stories of bloodthirsty Orcs from Mordor and their terrible cruelties to captives, and the people feared them; but it was generally accepted that the greatest dangers lurked in lands nearer to Mordor, such as Gondor. Rohan had been well protected by its own armies of the Rohirrim, filled with strong, bold, green-cloaked riders of Rohan, and unless Miriel was very much mistaken it was a member of that same company that had just ridden through the town looking as if Sauron himself were chasing him down.

Rohan had also been guarded in part by Saruman, the White Wizard, who dwelt in Isengard. Miriel felt quite safe living in the shadow of the great Tower of Orthanc.

But it seemed that somehow all carefully laid securities had been breached and Orcs were running freely through the land. Miriel could see the cloud of smoke in the western sky growing into a menacing black giant that blotted out the stars. She realized with a flash of horror that it was from other burning villages not far away.

Alastar didn't hesitate for an instant. He dashed toward the stables.

"Miriel!" he yelled over his shoulder. "Get everyone outside! I'll go for the horses!"

Miriel ran for the house and breathlessly burst through the door. Her parents and Elidor had just sat down to a nice, quiet supper, unaware of the commotion. They hadn't even heard the rider racing through the town.

"Orcs!" Miriel cried, choking in her fright. "Someone just rode through and said Orcs are on the way! We must go at once!"

Her mother and father leapt to their feet as one and began frantically snuffing out candles. There were no questions asked; the expression on Miriel's face had been enough. Miriel grabbed their cloaks while Elidor stuffed a shirt of chain mail into a brown cloth bag, crammed along with a few other items he deemed important, and tossed it to Miriel.

"Where's Alastar?" shouted her father as he buckled a sword around his waist.

"Getting the horses!" Miriel hollered back, stumbling through the darkened house to the door. "Let's get out of here!"

The family emerged to find the entire village in pandemonium. People were running in every direction in a mindless panic. A lucky few managed to get on their horses, and they galloped off into the night without delay. Two or three of the bolder folks tried to establish leadership and were loudly shouting orders, but they were completely ignored. Mothers tore after frightened children, screaming their names. Fear choked the air.

Miriel couldn't help but feel that none of this was real. She half expected to wake from the dreadful dream at any moment and find herself in her own bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Miriel pinched her arm and winced in pain.

This was no nightmare.

Suddenly Alastar emerged from the boiling turmoil leading three large horses, the strong, swift beasts that Rohan was famous for. Only one horse wore a saddle; the others were merely bridled.

"Mother! You and Father ride this one." He tossed the reins of the saddled horse to his father. "Elidor, you take Hanskir. Miriel will go with me on Kaspir."

Their father, Elidan, immediately boosted Rowen aboard and climbed on behind her. Elidor stared at Hanskir and frowned doubtfully.

"Hanskir's not saddled," muttered quiet, serious Elidor, and Alastar whirled on him in a desperate rage.

"There's no time!" Alastar hissed. "Just get on, and don't you dare fall off!"

Miriel turned and gazed at the horizon. In the darkness it was hard to see anything beyond the hilltops, but she saw the rising smoke clearly blotting out the stars. Then she saw the crest of the hill vanish, as if a thick black curtain of night were being drawn down over it. The crawling black veil covered the hillside and spread toward the valley, like armies of ants pouring out of their holes and smothering the grass. Miriel's eyes widened in horror.

"Orcs!" she screamed. "They are upon us!"

"Give me your hand!" Alastar yelled, already mounted upon the black horse named Kaspir. Alastar grasped her arm and swept her onto the horse's back, seating her firmly in front of him. Miriel held on to the long mane.

"Let's go!" Alastar cried to the horse. Kaspir bolted, but he had little running room because of all the people that choked the lane. Someone blindly slammed into Kaspir's hindquarters, and the horse reared and plunged, catching the mad terror of those around him. Miriel fought to hold on.

She shouted down instructions and encouragement to the townsfolk.

"Quickly, please! Watch out! Run _that_ way… there's still time!"

But nobody was listening. Everyone raced around, blind to the big horse and deaf to her words. Alastar was trying to calm Kaspir while threading the stallion through the thick crowds at the same time.

"Where is everyone?" asked Miriel all at once, looking up from the terrified stampede of people and glancing wildly about for some sign of her family.

"I don't know," Alastar muttered grimly. "We were separated."

At that moment a woman clutching a rolled blanket to her chest ran up to Miriel and seized her leg with a grip like iron. Her hair was a matted and tangled mess and a crazed light shone in her dark, pleading eyes.

"Please! Please take my baby away from here!" she cried, thrusting the crying bundle up at Miriel. Miriel hesitated. Tears of desperation shone on the woman's gaunt cheeks as she looked back fearfully at the approaching enemy.

"Please!" begged the distraught mother. "Take my baby!"

Miriel felt ready to cry herself. This woman was in as much danger as the child, and her only thought was for her baby's safety. Miriel choked and nodded shortly. She took the warm wriggling baby and held it tightly to her as fiercely and protectively as the poor mother herself would have done.

"I will do everything I can," Miriel promised firmly.

The crazed light dimmed in the mother's eyes.

"Thank you, thank you," muttered the woman almost hysterically, smiling a little as she stumbled backwards and disappeared into the crowd.

Suddenly a long shriek came from behind Miriel and Alastar and was abruptly cut short. Miriel turned in time to see three houses burst into flame near the end of the lane. One of them was her own. A hoarse cry full of rage exploded from Miriel's throat.

"Don't look back!" shouted Alastar desperately. He gripped her waist firmly. "Whatever happens, Miriel, don't look back." He gave the horse a swift kick and they dashed upward.

Miriel obediently stared straight ahead, clutching the baby and gripping the straining horse beneath her with her knees, but she couldn't ignore the screams or the greedy roaring of flames or the sound of swords. Miriel heard unearthly bellows like the snarls and growls of lions or the snapping of wolves, but far more hideous, and she knew it must be the Orcs. The clamor was deafening. Fear and hate blazed inside her mind like a red fog.

Without warning an arrow whistled by Miriel's head and landed in the dirt ahead of them. Another arrow hit a man on foot, and he fell to the earth a short distance away.

"They're shooting at us!" Alastar yelled. He let go of Miriel's waist and jerked at the reins with both hands to turn the horse and send Kaspir surging ahead.

"Don't look back, Miriel! Just hold on! Run, Kaspir! Fly!"

Alastar found an opening and made for it, shouting at the horse. They burst free of the crowd and Kaspir broke into full gallop, bearing them to the edge of the village. Alastar gave a choked groan and fell silent, but Miriel was crying out in glee and urging Kaspir faster. The deafening noises of war faded behind her. Escape was very near.

Suddenly Miriel felt her back grow cold with the wind. She turned with a startled gasp. The space behind her was empty. Alastar wasn't there!

"Alastar!" shouted Miriel in terror, gathering the loose reins in her own hands and pulling Kaspir around hard. She glanced wildly in every direction, but she could see no sign of him.

"Alastar! Alastar!" Miriel screamed, driving her horse back among the swells of running people. "Where are you, Alastar? Alastar! Answer me!"

Miriel fought to control her horse, which was plunging in fear of fire and foes as they were caught in a stampeding tide of men, women and children. Kaspir's flailing hooves caught someone in the head. The victim fell and disappeared beneath a thousand feet. Miriel clutched at Kaspir's mane and neck and held on grimly to the wailing baby as she was thrown about helplessly.

"Kaspir! Stop it!" she cried to the horse in desperation, yanking at his reins and pulling him to the ground. "Alastar! Alastar, where are you?"

A scattered hail of arrows flew around them. Miriel looked up and saw black shapes silhouetted against the angry orange glare of the fires. It was the first time Miriel beheld the creatures of which she had heard so many dark tales. Little did Miriel know it would not be the last.

The Orcs were more animal than human, for their evil natures had corrupted everything about them, even their bodily forms. Their red eyes glowed in the darkness with a murderous gleam as they relentlessly pursued the fleeing townsfolk.

But Miriel refused to leave without her brother. She called his name over and over and searched among the running villagers. The Orcs were getting very close, and still Miriel stubbornly drove an unwilling Kaspir deeper into the village.

Suddenly Miriel screamed. Cold iron claws gripped her calf and tried to wrench her from the horse's back. An Orc had a hold on her, and Miriel swept the baby out of reach even as she looked in horror upon an Orc for the first time. Miriel kicked out wildly and caught him in the jaw. He gave a roar of pain and loosened his hold, and Miriel tore her leg away. Kaspir immediately wheeled and raced up the lane, heedless of Miriel's cries or commands, no longer obedient to the reins. He had had enough. The terrified animal galloped hard and bore Miriel from the midst of her kinsfolk, ignoring the screams of the wounded and the dying, not caring that he trampled them underfoot as he carried his rider out of the fires and clouds of smoke and into the far hills.

Miriel tried with all her might to control the runaway horse. She kicked at him and fought his head. She screamed and shouted. She pulled and yanked at the reins. She nearly dropped the baby in her arms in the midst of her panic, but she remembered him at the last moment and clutched him to herself as she desperately maintained her balance and somehow stayed on Kaspir's back as the horse tore away from danger.

Miriel gave one last futile pull on the reins, but it was no use. Kaspir blew past everyone and raced alone into the star-pricked night.

At last Miriel gave up trying to turn Kaspir. The blazing village faded behind them as they ran. Miriel looked back helplessly one last time as it disappeared over the horizon, and she had a brief glimpse of the town that had once been her home completely engulfed in flames.

Her vision blurred. Miriel buried her head in the straining sweating neck and hid in the billowing black mane and sobbed brokenly as the cold wind flowed over her. She whispered her brothers' names into the indifferent darkness. The peaceful silence was almost worse than the attack itself. It gave Miriel enough respite to think, and the only thing Miriel wondered was whether or not her family was still alive.

She didn't want to believe that they might be dead. She refused to even consider the possibility. But she remembered Alastar's choked groan, and the cold wind on her back, and clamped down on her imagination. It couldn't be true. They had to be out there somewhere, alive. Hot tears rolled down Miriel's cheeks, and she blindly touched the ring that her mother had given her only hours before.

They couldn't die. They couldn't leave her here in Middle-earth all alone...

**There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

**ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS:**

**Crazycatluver: **You're my very first reviewer… thank you and congratulations! I love cats too. Mine is white with apricot points and blue eyes, and he's brilliant… and crazy! He likes to come and interrupt my writing on a regular basis for his daily dose of petting and crooning over; he never lets me forget my priorities and what's _really_ important in my life. I've taught him how to shake and sit and a number of other tricks, and right now we're working on dictation and shortpaw. But it's a long time coming, especially since right now, Frosty is a hunt-and-claw typist. He's better working with _the mouse…_ ;-)

**Moryan:** Oh yes, you're very perceptive. The ring will be very important later on. I'm getting to that…

**QuenyaAnarya: **Thank you! Was this quick enough for you? ;-)

**Wondereye:** I bet you aren't the only one curious about the nature of the title! Improbable, isn't it? But all will be revealed, in time… 

**Retrtrewtr: **Umm… troll?

**Luke Skywalker: **First of all, I love your screen name.  Secondly, I find this tale interesting myself. I hope you liked the second chapter as much as the first. The Force be with you.


	3. THE GLITTERING CAVES OF AGLAROND

**THE GLITTERING CAVES OF AGLAROND**

Miriel rode hard all through the night. The poor baby in the blanket was disconsolate and wailed hungrily. There was nothing Miriel could do to comfort him or soothe his pain. Miriel felt a deep pang of sorrow for the small bundle in her lap and wondered if he would ever see his mother again. Feeling sorry for someone besides herself helped Miriel attain a certain calm. As long as she had the baby to protect, there was a reason to go on.

After an eternity a red dawn appeared in the eastern skies, and the light of it showed no sign of the Orcs, or anyone else, either. Kaspir was tired and had long since ceased galloping. The great black stallion's foam-flecked head hung low, and he plodded along at a weary walk.

Miriel tried to get her bearings. She didn't know where she was or where she was going. She let Kaspir choose his own path, as long as it didn't lead back into the west, where a great smoke plume was still visible in the distance. Kaspir laboriously climbed to the summit of a tall mountain, which took the better part of two hours, and Miriel stopped him to look around. She could see unhindered in every direction for miles.

Orcs still blackened the land to the west, marching straight through the heart of Rohan uncontested, wreaking havoc and cutting a broad swath of death and destruction. Her village was not the only one left untouched during the night. Everywhere small towns lay in ruins, abandoned and burning. Miriel turned away seething with a fiery hatred pierced by an excruciating sorrow that throbbed unbearably, painfully, in her. She bent over Kaspir's withers, choked by her unspilled tears and a constricted throat.

At that moment, the baby in her arms began to cry. Miriel clutched at him, glancing nervously behind her as she held him against her chest to still his crying and comfort him with her warmth. The Orcs were far too close for comfort, and poor Kaspir was too exhausted to outrun them in a pinch. Miriel impatiently brushed the tears from her eyes and cheeks. She would have to save her weeping for later; right now she had get the three of them to safety, if there was any safety left anywhere in the burning land.

Miriel looked up and searched the hills for the defense force of Rohirrim that should be riding out to challenge them, but there was none. Her brow furrowed with worry. Surely the news would have reached Edoras by now; the entire army should have emptied long ago. But they were not, and Miriel knew that was a bad sign.

There was nothing to the north, and the eastward way was clear except for the gathering black clouds in the direction of Mordor that seemed to forebode a terrible menace, or a great storm about to burst upon Middle-earth. But to the south, Miriel spotted movement at last. She strained her eyes until she made out a line of refugees slowly threading their way from the city of Edoras, where the King of Rohan dwelt, to the direction of Helm's Deep, a protected fortress nestled in the side of the mountains.

A desperate ray of hope filled Miriel's torn heart. Perhaps, by some miracle, her parents and brothers had managed to make it! Maybe they were walking among the other homeless people even now! It was a long shot, but it was the last thing that Miriel could hold on to. She clutched at the grim hope with both hands.

Miriel whipped Kaspir into a trot, and the tired black horse doggedly trudged across the barren land of the Riddermark. They were unhampered by any difficulties presented by the hosts of Mordor, fortunately, but hunger and thirst were beginning to take its toll on the baby, Miriel, and her horse. By early afternoon she was within sight of her goal, and she urged Kaspir on. Miriel had never been happier to see other folks in her life.

A single rider broke from the group and galloped toward her on a bay horse. Miriel saw a green cloak fluttering out behind him, and a shining silver helm crested by a gray horsetail, and she knew at once that he was one of the King's men. The guard halted not far from her. His fair face became distressed as he beheld her, and he looked upon her with pity.

"Welcome, lady," he soberly addressed her in a quiet voice. "Join our company. You will be well protected among our ranks."

Miriel nodded wordlessly and Kaspir shuffled forward, his proud head hanging low to the ground. The King's rider escorted her. He trotted at her side and asked her a few tactful questions about the night before. Miriel answered in clipped sentences, for her grief was heavy upon her and exhaustion weighed her down. But she felt greatly relieved that she was no longer on her own. She felt less vulnerable, and she was glad to have armed soldiers providing a measure of safety.

The guard confirmed Miriel's guess that the people of Rohan were making for Helm's Deep, and he told her that many refugees from all over the land had arrived the day before and all during the night. At this Miriel woke up and sat straighter on Kaspir's back. When they reached the endless trail of people, Miriel did not rest until she had ridden up and down through everyone, searching the blank, shaken faces for the instantly recognizable ones of her family.

It was then that Miriel first beheld King Theoden, whom she had only known previously through her mother's stories.

He did not notice her staring at him; the King had much on his mind and his advisors were occupying his full attention as they discussed matters of concern even as they rode at the head of the migration. Miriel dared not intrude any further and allowed Kaspir to hang back while she subjected him to her intense scrutiny.

He was not surrounded with any pretentious entourage or pompous ceremony that Miriel might have expected to accompany a King. Contrary to Miriel's colorful expectations, the green-clad King Theoden looked more like a common soldier of Rohan than a King, and she only knew him because of his ornate silver crown and the vague description Miriel carried with her, imparted by her mother. Miriel surmised this incognito procession was due to the emergency status of their exodus and she also saw the wisdom of purposefully failing to advertise who the King was, as he would be the enemy's primary target.

Miriel was naturally curious about the monarch of the Riddermark because of her blood-ties to the palace of Edoras, and she had never before seen him. But he was almost as Miriel had imagined him, with minor differences. His brow was creased deeply with age, though no hint of gray touched his bright golden hair. His eyes were fell and determined. His features were chisled and hard-set, and there was an air of pride about him, and yet there was a softness to his expression that denoted a kind and noble heart. Miriel could not help admiring him, and she could not blame her mother for being honored to serve such a king as he and to have raised his son.

Suddenly a woman dashed up to Miriel and clutched at her leg. Miriel started at the familiar gesture, her intriguing evaluation of King Theoden thus interrupted, and looked down.

"Do you have my baby?" the woman cried, gazing desperately into Miriel's eyes. Her wild glance fell upon the rolled blanket resting quietly on Miriel's lap.

"My baby! My baby!" the mother wailed, reaching for her child. "Is he all right?"

Miriel nodded wordlessly and lifted the bundle to the woman's waiting arms.

The distraught lines of worry vanished miraculously as the woman held her baby, and she gasped with joy when the little one wriggled and gave a thin, weak cry complaining of his hunger and exhaustion. A sudden smile lit her face.

"Oh, my baby!" murmured the mother softly. She was almost in awe as she looked down lovingly and cradled the infant. She turned to Miriel with tears in her eyes.

"Thank you," whispered the woman gratefully, and Miriel nodded again. Tears were brimming in Miriel's eyes and threatening to spill over. Miriel's throat was too tight to speak as she watched the tender parent soothing her child. She couldn't help thinking of her own mother and wondering if her parents were still alive.

Miriel stared as the mother walked away, gently clasping the blanket-covered child. A spot of warmth touched Miriel's broken heart.

_That was one baby the Orcs didn't get,_ Miriel thought fiercely to herself as she turned Kaspir and continued calling to her family members.

It seemed that her village had fared very poorly, and precious few of the inhabitants had escaped to safety. She recognized a small number of folks, less than a score of fellow villagers that she did not know well beyond their faces, but she did not find her brothers.

Miriel was devastated. Resignedly she pulled Kaspir into line and joined the steady migration. Her spirit failed within her. Her mind told her that since they were not here, there was little chance that they had survived the night. But her heart stubbornly refused to give up hope, or to even consider the possibility that they might all be dead, because it was the last thing Miriel had to hold on to. Now and again her searching gaze would stray to the distant horizons.

All afternoon Miriel and Kaspir filed slowly among the other travelers, who were seemingly not weary enough to keep from gossiping. Miriel had nothing to do but sit listlessly on the back of her horse and listen, and she learned many things on that lonely road.

It seemed that four strange visitors had arrived recently in Edoras, and that one of them was a wizard called Gandalf who freed King Theoden from a spell that had rendered him nearly incapable of ruling Rohan. Soon afterwards Gandalf left Edoras in a great hurry, and his departure brought mixed reactions from the townsfolk. Some were glad to see him go, regarding the wizard as a bringer of evil and his coming as a bad omen, while others felt he was watching out for the good of Rohan and defended him verbally. But the latter was the minority.

Another popular topic of conversation, one that Miriel liked less since it struck so close to home, was the invasion of the Orcs. They were not Orcs from Mordor, as Miriel had thought. When Miriel heard the truth, she gasped in shock and clutched at Kaspir's mane to steady herself. The Orcs were marching on orders directly from Isengard!

Miriel's blood turned to ice in her veins as she listened intently to the story. The great wizard Saruman, who had long been their friend and ally, had fallen to evil and had joined forces with the dark lord from Mordor, Sauron. The tower of Orthanc, which Miriel had for so long considered a symbol of safety and security, was now under Sauron's dominion and cast a long, threatening shadow over the lands of Rohan. Rohan and Gondor both were now caught in the middle of two great evils bent on destroying the race of Men.

It was Gandalf who had brought these tidings to the King, for Saruman had been the head of the wizard order and the White Council, and Gandalf knew him well.

Gandalf's three companions remained behind with the refugees and accompanied them to Helm's Deep. People had many opinions about the newcomers. There was a Man, a Dwarf and an Elf all traveling together, and from where they had come and what their purpose was in Rohan seemed shrouded in mystery. But the people had plenty of ideas, and Miriel had trouble separating truth from rumor.

The man was called Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who was a great warrior and a Ranger who had wandered in the lonely wilds for many years. It was whispered that he might even be a great lord, for he seemed to hold a hidden power and he had a stately bearing. The folk were generally in awe of him.

The Dwarf was called Gimli, an outspoken, feisty fellow that amused everyone who had chanced to meet him. The fact that a Dwarf and an Elf were together in the first place raised eyebrows, for everyone knew that there was bad blood between the two races. Elves and Dwarves had long been at war and did not get along, but for some reason, this odd pair did.

No one seemed to know hardly anything about the Elf. The common folk were far more concerned about other affairs to bother much with him, but Miriel felt a shiver of excitement amid her grief. She had been right. The Elves really did exist, and perhaps later on, if her luck held, she might even get to meet one!

His name was Legolas. They said he was as Elven fair as the tales tell, and that he was from the woodland realm of Mirkwood, but beyond that nothing else was certain.

Miriel grew weary of the talk and the endless journey; she remembered thinking once that she could never tire of the beauty of the endless hills of the Riddermark, but she certainly had her fill of them for the time being. Her eyes glazed over as Kaspir plodded steadily beneath her, for her eyelids were heavy with sorrow and lack of rest. Miriel nodded off and slumped over her horse's dark neck, and her aching arms hung limply from either side of her horse while she buried her face deep in the thick mane. She fell into a dead sleep, but she had not been out long when she was rudely interrupted.

"Wargs! Wargs are coming!"

Suddenly a wave of terror rippled down the line of refugees as the cry rang out. Miriel shot upright, but she was groggy and searched the world uncomprehendingly while she spat strands of black horse hair from her mouth. Someone scraped against her leg, yelling something unintelligible. Miriel interpreted the words through a sleep-deprived fog. But the terror was unmistakable, and it jolted Miriel from her stupor. Instantly Miriel snapped wide awake and looked around wildly, her gray eyes wide and frightened. People were running beside her, and screams and shouts rent the air. Kaspir shied violently, snorting, and Miriel struggled to calm him.

"Kaspir, no!" shrieked Miriel, pulling at the reins as the frightened stallion whinnied and tried to bolt.

But Miriel was more horrified than her horse. Wargs were hideous beasts that the Orcs chose to ride upon, and they were just as ruthless and bloodthirsty as their Orc counterparts. Miriel wanted to give Kaspir his head and gallop away, but she stilled the impulse to flee blindly. Common sense told her that safety lay in numbers, even though the long train of women, children, carts and pack animals considerably slowed them.

Miriel could see the King and his company of men riding away from the group, dashing out bravely to meet the enemy head-on with their swords drawn. Miriel's heart was in her throat as she watched them go, for they faced a formidable opponent and she knew it was likely that they would not return.

But Miriel had little time to brood on the fate of the riders. Kaspir was roaring in terror and plunging beneath her and becoming increasingly hard to control. But the lines of people were moving forward, and Kaspir went along with them, for he was too tired to fight back. The King's niece, Princess Eowyn, had taken command in the King's absence and was shouting orders. Miriel found Lady Eowyn's strong voice a calming influence in the midst of her panic.

As she and Kaspir rushed toward Helm's Deep with strangers from every part of Rohan, she could hear the terrible sounds of the battle not far behind them. The snarling of the Wargs, the roaring of the Orcs, and the harsh ring of metal clashed with the desperate shouts of the defenders. The awful noise faded into the distance as they fled.

Miriel wondered if she would ever see those King's guards again, and she was worried that no one, soldier or ordinary citizen, would survive very long with such an enemy as Saruman relentlessly pursuing them, for it seemed as if the evil wizard's one goal was to wipe humanity off the face of Middle-earth forever.

All afternoon they ran hard and swift until Miriel thought she would die from the severe hunger, parching thirst and overwhelming exhaustion. She concentrated all her strength on remaining seated firmly on Kaspir's back. By the time the great fortress of Helm's Deep came into sight at last, Miriel had nearly fainted.

The people burst into the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, which lay protected by the fortress at Helm's Deep, and flung themselves to the floor. Other refugees had made it ahead of them, and Miriel perked up long enough to once again search among the crowds seeking her brothers and her parents. But they were nowhere to be found, and after going through the throngs a second time to be certain she had not missed them, Miriel's heart sank deep into darkness. Finally she gave up in despair and sat down.

After a time some of the King's men returned. The attack had greatly reduced the number of surviving warriors. One of the fallen was the visitor Aragorn. Great lord and renowned fighter though he was, it had not been enough to save him from plunging over a cliff and into a deep river, were he was swept away by the swift current. The Lady Eowyn was especially distraught, although she bravely held her head high as she roved among the common folk helping where she could.

But Miriel felt strangely removed from the concerns of anyone else, even the loss of Aragorn. Miriel had plenty of her own sorrows to occupy her mind. She stabled Kaspir and made sure the weary horse had plenty to eat and drink before she left him. Then she stumbled down the dimly lit passages of the caves and numbly threw herself down in a dark corner. The last of her strength ebbed away.

Miriel did not move as the afternoon slipped away under evening shadows. She did not eat or drink anything, and sleep would not come to her. She lay listlessly on the hard ground, staring unseeing at the gray rock walls. Slow, silent tears fell from her empty eyes and splashed upon her pale cheeks. Miriel kept seeing Alastar teasing her while they were happily swordfighting, and his gay laughter echoed with a hollow ring in her mind. It seemed as if that moment was but a distant memory from years long past and buried by sorrow.

Her brothers, her mother, her father, her friends and neighbors – every person she loved dearly in this world was gone. Her village was pillaged and burned to the ground. She was homeless and an orphan. After her ordeal at Helm's Deep was over, she would have nowhere to go and no one to turn to for help.

Miriel's hope faded. Her will to live was dying away. She felt darkness creeping upon her and did not have the strength to resist, and she did not care.

Miriel did not care even when Aragorn came riding in, bent over the neck of his horse, still somehow miraculously alive and bringing news to the King. She took no notice when the announcement was given that a huge army of Orcs was marching toward Helm's Deep and would be arriving by nightfall. She hardly stirred as the panic-stricken refugees rushed in and filled the caves for protection during the battle. She did not start in terror when people whispered together in fear and said they would neither win the fight, nor live to see the light of day.

A voice broke into the dark shroud of Miriel's mind.

"Have you eaten anything?"

Miriel turned and looked at the fair lady with long golden tresses bending over her. Despite her drab brown attire, Miriel instantly recognized her as the Princess Eowyn. Miriel knew this because Eowyn had been pointed out to her earlier, but even without the benefit of knowing thanks to the insight of a native peasant of Edoras who dwelt near Meduseld, Princess Eowyn had the same carved, proud features of her uncle. Miriel sensed a cold hardness around her that set her apart from the other women. Eowyn was high-hearted and beautiful, but somehow Miriel knew that this princess was filled with the same bravery and reckless courage as a number of the mensoldiers. Judging by the confident way she handled herself and the graceful strength that suffused her movements, Miriel easily guessed that Eowyn had the skills of a warrior to back up her outward appearance and her bold spirit.

Miriel tried to answer, but no words came to her dry throat, so she simply shook her head.

"You must keep up your strength," Eowyn told her with firm gentleness. She gave Miriel part of a hard loaf of bread and made her drink some water from a skin. Miriel took a few painful swallows and felt somewhat revived. Miriel was grateful for Eowyn's care, but no food or drink could mend Miriel's broken heart.

Eowyn noticed the deep Orc-scratches on Miriel's calf and gently dressed it with what meager supplies she had. Then Eowyn stayed by and ordered Miriel to take a few mouthfuls of bread and a little more water. Miriel reluctantly obeyed and found her spirits returning.

"Thank you," Miriel croaked.

Eowyn bravely gave Miriel a tight smile as she moved away.

Hours passed and darkness fell. Miriel remained where she was as the tension grew. Death meant nothing to her, except to nearly become a welcome friend, for taking that mist-shrouded path was the only way she could see her beloved family again. Miriel sat alone, silent and despondent. All the fight had gone out of her. It was as if she were almost content to quietly accept her inevitable fate.

**There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

**ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS:**

**Luke Skywalker: **I hope I didn't scare you too badly. :-) Thus is the nature of this plot, which will continue getting deeper as time goes on; losing her family was, unfortunately, a big part of it. But I felt bad for her too… As for your demand, this chapter is the response of compliance. :-) I try to keep my readers happy.

**Dashing Daylight:** Thank you for the reviews on both chapters! My heart was also beating faster, even as I wrote it. But it will beat faster when I get to some of the later chapters…

**QuenyaAnarya: **Thank you again, and Joaquin Pheonix is all yours! ;-)

**Retrtrewtr: **Okay, whatever. But I must say I have never had roast mutton and my bedroom does not resemble a bone-strewn cave; the only carrion that has ever disgraced the carpet was a mouse dragged in by my overzealous cat. That said, if you simply mean to say that I'm not nice to my characters, I agree with you wholeheartedly, and I commend you for picking up on it within such a short amount of time! I feel very sorry for the characters who have the misfortune of falling into my evil plots. 8-) After suffering my due remorse, I then go and write more…


	4. THE BATTLE OF HELM'S DEEP

_**A/N: About FOR THE LOVE OF BOROMIR: **Thank you for all the inquiries I have gotten asking for more of that tale! See the Answers to Reviewers at the end for an update on that fanfiction._

**THE BATTLE OF HELM'S DEEP**

The waiting was interminable. The air inside the glittering caves of Helm's Deep was so thick you could slice it with a sword. Grief and fear hung over a great mass of huddled women and children like a choking black cloud. Only moments before, the King's guards had taken every able-bodied male from them, even old men and young boys, leaving wives, sisters, and daughters weeping disconsolately and clutching one another.

Miriel sat apart from the others in her dark corner. She wept for no one now, for her tears were spent. She was worn out from the long journey to Helm's Deep fraught with worry and terror of the ruthless Orcs. She wondered why she was still alive, and why it was that she, Miriel, and not her brothers or her parents, who had survived the attack. She was furious at being spared, especially since she was the only one of her family left.

She glanced at the Lady Eowyn, princess of Rohan, who was trying to comfort a small, wide-eyed child. Outwardly Eowyn seemed strong and in control, but Miriel knew that the princess didn't want to be here in the caves. Miriel had seen her arguing with King Theoden earlier, begging to be allowed to fight. But the King ordered her to remain with the women, and Eowyn meekly obeyed.

Suddenly Miriel caught her breath and clutched at the cold rock wall. She felt a great and terrible vibration that filled her quailing heart with dread. She knew without seeing that it was the iron-shod feet of a mighty host from Isengard. Their pounding shook the earth and caused the diamond-encrusted stalactites to tremble perilously on the roof of the cave. As the minutes went by, the approaching earthquake grew louder.

Abruptly it stopped. The air was deathly still except for the comfortless cries of a few small infants. Miriel looked upon the drawn faces of the women and the frightened wide-eyed children. She could see the mother whose child Miriel had carried on Kaspir's back now gently cradling her baby in the dim yellow torchlight.

Without warning there came a terrible crashing of iron punctuated by throaty roars. Instinct told Miriel that the Orcs were putting on some kind of fearsome display, purposely trying to pierce the courage of even the bravest hearts of men, pummeling the ground with spears and clashing sword on shield.

One trembling young woman threw herself into the arms of Princess Eowyn, sobbing hysterically.

"We are doomed!" the young woman wailed. "We're all going to die!"

"Hush, hush," commanded Eowyn. Miriel watched as the Princess comforted the young woman and tried to maintain a courageous calm.

All at once Miriel realized how hopeless this night truly was. The young woman was right. They had about three hundred soldiers defending them, mostly untrained old men and young boys. The Orcs were ten thousand strong. The battle would be bravely fought but swiftly concluded. Orcs would storm these caves and mercilessly slaughter everyone inside.

Miriel did not care if death found her on that dark night. She felt there was nothing left to live for, and she almost wanted to die just so she would be reunited with her beloved family. But as Miriel stared at the mother tenderly clutching her helpless child, and pictured the Orcs bursting in with their black swords drawn and closing in on the terrified woman and her baby, hatred suddenly blazed inside Miriel's chest.

"I did not carry that child this far through danger and shadow to watch him die in a corner," she muttered as a spark leapt into her gray eyes. The will to struggle against the enemy was rekindled, not for herself, but for the tiny infant, and for all the people who cowered powerlessly in those caves. That fire which burned in her heart gave her a little strength, and she pushed herself upright.

Then Miriel remembered the odds stacked against her. She thought of the throngs of hideous Orcs lying in wait for her outside. She knew that to venture beyond the caves was almost certain death. But if she remained here for the battle to end, the Orcs would surely come. She could see them leering cruelly and bending over her as she backed against a wall with nowhere to run.

"I would rather die fighting," she growled to the darkness, dispelling the evil vision with an effort. Her fate was decided, and Miriel stood up. Her only worldly possessions were in the brown cloth bag that her brother Elidor had given her when she had last seen him the night before. Miriel clutched the sack and slipped unnoticed into the shadows. She looked back at the Lady Eowyn's grim face before she disappeared around the corner.

When she was alone, Miriel ripped open the bag and lifted out the shirt of heavy chain mail which had once belonged to her brother, Elidor. Without hesitation she threw it on and settled it over her dark gray traveling dress. She tore the sides of her skirt to give herself greater mobility. She tied back her long dark hair with a strip of leather. Thus arrayed, she took a deep breath and steeled herself. Then she rushed out of the musty caves.

Once she was out in the open, Miriel paused to breathe the free air. Rain poured from dark clouds in great soaking torrents as though to dampen the spirits of Men. Miriel touched her ring and slid it closer to her hand; rain and nervous sweat were making her fingers clammy and she did not want to lose this ring. Even if it contained not one spot of magic or virtue, it came from her mother, and that made it priceless in Miriel's eyes.

Miriel spotted a sword lying forgotten on the stones and grabbed it, pausing to run a finger over the sharp steel edge. She was grateful now for the years she had spent learning the art of swordsmanship and everything her brothers had taught her about wielding a blade. She would put all those skills to good use on this doomed night.

Taking the sword, Miriel ran to the wall to see what was happening.

The sight nearly took her fragile courage away. Orcs from Isengard stretched on as far as the eye could see, their dark armor and evil helms emblazoned with the ghastly white hand of the fallen wizard Saruman. Torches burned among them, and above the enemy hung sheer black forests of glittering spears. The Orcs roared and slavered. Rain dripped from their hideous yellow fangs. Vast numbers of Orcs were already raising ladders to the wall, and hundreds more were firing arrows at the soldiers of Rohan.

Miriel wrenched herself from the horrible spectacle and looked then to the King. The defenders stood on the wall, tall and proud. Fell and determined were the faces of young and old. Miriel saw, to her great surprise, a large host of Elves among them. Miriel gasped and a brief smile passed over her lips at hope unlooked-for in this dark hour. Elves and Men had not fought side by side in this fashion for three thousand years since the time of the great kings, Elendil and Isildur, in the first war against Sauron. Yet here were the two races united once more under the same standard.

Miriel paused. Doubts plagued her mind. What could she do to help? She was only one among thousands; a mere maiden and no warrior. But Miriel was determined to try, no matter how small her contribution. She would not to stand by and do nothing while men fought and died to save Rohan.

At the least, she die with a sword in her hand.

Miriel ducked as an arrow whistled over her head. Instantly she roused herself and raced up the stone stairs toward the Elves.

"I've got nothing to lose," Miriel murmured aloud to herself as she ran. "At least I'll not meet my end in those stuffy caves, helpless and unarmed. I don't see what good I can do out here, and I can't imagine anyone making a song about my deeds in battle, but there's nothing else for it. I'll do my best."

As she ran, blood coursed through her body and Miriel was filled with a reckless courage. The fierce wind blasted her face and tore at her dress. Rain pounded in her eyes. But Miriel did not care. She shook her head to clear her vision and sent drops of water flying away like bits of broken glass. Miriel shouted into the night and leapt up the stairs. She was young and strong and alive. She could make a difference!

An arrow zinged at her chest and Miriel gave a short cry, but it bounced back, thwarted by the chain mail and leaving only a short rip to show that it had been there. Miriel paid no more heed to the dart that dropped harmlessly to the ground, but her mind was working. It told her that she should have felt more impact than she had. Miriel clutched at her ring while her legs churned and carried her along the top of the fortress. She would need all the help she could get…

Suddenly a roaring Orc loomed ahead of Miriel, his weapon raised to strike her down as she came. A flash of lightning burned his black armor a sharp, ghostly white against the stormy skies.

Fear flickered in Miriel's eyes, but anger blazed through her heart and won out.

"Alastar!" Miriel cried as she charged.

Her sword clashed against the Orc's heavy iron and deflected the blow. Miriel was nearly thrown to the ground from the force of the impact, but she recovered immediately and twisted away.

The Orc was gigantic, more than twice her match in mass and muscle. But Miriel was swift and agile, and desperation lent her uncommon strength. Clumsiness was the Orc's only weakness, and Miriel took full advantage of it. Twice her sword clashed with the Orc's before a third quick thrust took him at last. Miriel's enemy fell sputtering at her feet.

Miriel dashed up the last steps. Fear quickened her heartbeat and heightened all her senses. Colors brightened and smells were stronger. Miriel found she could see everything clearly, even in the darkness. Miriel became immune to weariness and pain as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Wind and rain were forgotten. Her mind sharpened to an almost supernatural level, and Miriel no longer had to think about what she was doing but relied rather on instinct.

Miriel smote another Orc that stood in her way. She reached the top of the wall and dashed along it, glancing down as she ran. More ladders were raised, laden heavily with invaders.

One ladder was coming straight toward her. A few soldiers of Rohan ran to meet it, but they would not make it in time. In a flash Miriel realized that it was up to her to keep this part of the wall clear. She gripped her sword with clammy hands and stood fast, breathless but determined.

The ladder clanged against the wall. With an unearthly cry Miriel threw her sword against the Orc's and shoved it harmlessly aside. She recoiled swiftly and stabbed at his chest. With a throaty yell he fell limply from the top rung, taking several of the enemy with him as he plunged into a black sea of Orcs.

And then the unthinkable happened. Miriel's ring slipped off.

She gasped and went after the tiny silver hoop as it went bouncing merrily across the wall, but just as she pounced on it, the ring lodged into a crack in the stones and refused to budge.

Miriel was frantic. She could hear more Orcs climbing the ladder, uttering strings of harsh words in the Dark Tongue that Miriel was glad she could not understand, and Miriel worked feverishly at the ring stuck in the stones. She was running out of time. Rain made her grip impossible, and she tugged and gasped, but the ring was tightly embedded in the wall and would not move. The Orcs were getting closer. Miriel's fingers slipped off the round surface, and she slapped the stones in frustration and tried all the harder. The Uruk-hai were almost at the top of the wall. Miriel gritted her teeth and bit her lip and pulled…

Just as the first Orc topped the wall, Miriel gave one last desperate tug and the ring miraculously popped loose. She threw it on her finger and grabbed her sword in time for a last-second parry that only just saved her from a premature decapitation. Miriel traded blows with the Orc, and with a sudden lunge of Miriel's sword the Orc stopped mid-growl and fell, howling, to the ground below, taking a few of his companions with him.

More Orcs climbed upward, snarling in fury at being thus delayed. Miriel knocked another Orc from the ladder before the soldiers arrived. Seeming not to heed her presence the guards rushed in and took over, and Miriel was pushed aside. Orcs came in pairs, but no sooner did they reach the wall than they met their doom.

Miriel blinked. She was no longer needed here. Grasping her sword and clenching her fist to minimize the risk of losing the ring again, she ran on.

Ahead Miriel saw that the Elves had a terrible fight on their hands. Orcs swarmed up the ladders and poured over the wall. Miriel dashed toward them, leveling an enemy that stood in her path, and then all at once she reached the thick of the battle. Without hesitation Miriel plunged in.

Fighting swirled around her. The crash of metal and steel rang in her ears. Desperately her sword flashed as she laid Orcs at her feet. Her cries mingled with those of the Elves and were lost in the hoarse grunts of the Orcs. Above the tumult Miriel heard a deep voice.

"Legolas!" someone called from another part of the wall. Miriel dimly realized that the voice belonged to a Dwarf, the visitor named Gimli. "Two already!"

Miriel leaped aside to avoid an Orc's stroke and then slew him.

"I'm on seventeen!" Miriel heard another shout back. She drew herself up and slammed her sword across another Orc, listening to this odd conversation with only half her mind.

"Argh!" exclaimed the Dwarf fiercely. "I'll have no pointy-ear outscoring me!"

If the danger had been less, Miriel would have laughed aloud. But this strange manner of jesting gave her courage. She rose up and clashed with yet another Orc, trading blows until Miriel threw the sword from his grasp and finished him.

"Nineteen!" shouted the Elf Legolas.

Miriel ran to the wall and found on Orc clawing his way up a ladder. She threw him down and killed the one behind him. Miriel grabbed at a passing Elf and caught his tunic.

"Help me!" she hollered.

Together with the Elf, Miriel pushed on the ladder with all her might until it fell away from the wall and crashed to the earth, killing many of the Orcs below as well as the ones clinging to the ladder.

Breathless and exhausted, Miriel stumbled backwards and tripped over a fallen Orc. Clutching at her sword in terror she tried to scramble to her feet, but she was too weak.

Miriel glanced about wildly, expecting doom to fall upon her without warning, but she found the wall miraculously clear of Orcs for the moment. Looking up, she saw the short, sturdy form of the Dwarf planted firmly on the wall and silhouetted against the blazing battle. He was standing between two overloaded ladders, whirling his axe and single-handedly taking down each Orc as they reached the top.

"Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! Twen-tee-one-uh!" Gimli's strong voice rang out over Helm's Deep as he wielded his great axe. "Twen-tee-two! Twen-tee-threeeee!"

"Bless you, Gimli," Miriel murmured, grimacing in amusement. She rested quietly for an instant until she felt her strength returning. Her ring had slipped almost over her knuckle, but she pushed it back into place. She struggled to her feet as several more ladders landed against the wall. Orcs poured over the top, and the Elves soon had more than they could handle. Miriel dashed in and lent her sword to the cause.

Suddenly a great warrior appeared, battling two Orcs at once, and then giving orders to the Elven archers. Elves and Men alike found new courage in his presence. Miriel had only time to glance at him and recalled the tales from the gossiping refugees. Aragorn son of Arathorn he was called, a visitor to Rohan and a companion of Gimli's. Beyond that Miriel remembered nothing.

The onslaught of the Orcs grew fierce, and Miriel lost track of both Aragorn and Gimli. Her magic ring succombed to the rain and sweat and slipped off again and was lost under the black feet of the Orcs, and Miriel could not retrieve it. She was forced to fight alone. Pain seared through her body as one of her enemies slashed wildly and caught her in the arm. Miriel screamed even as she slew the Orc.

The battle was momentarily under control again, and Miriel looked down at her forearm and found a deep gash. Blood poured from it and stained her torn dress. A dizzy spell took her and she clutched at the wall to steady herself.

At that instant Miriel became aware of arrows singing away with great speed beside her head. She turned and found herself standing next to a tall, fair Elven archer. His hands moved quicker than sight and his arrows did not fail to find their mark. His long blonde hair blew in the wind, his intense eyes burned into the ranks of the enemy, and his mouth pursed grimly as he sought his next target. Miriel stared at him, but the Elf took no notice and continued firing into the black masses below.

Miriel saw that his arrow stock was running low. He was taking out a large number of Orcs with his lightning speed and deadly precision, far more than any single warrior could have done with the sword. Miriel decided she would be the most useful to the defense if she helped the Elf continue firing without a letup, unhindered by lack of arrows.

But his supply would not last indefinitely.

Immediately Miriel dropped down and groped about on the cold wet stone until she found a score of good arrows. Her ring was among them, twinkling amid the mud puddle where it had been kicked aside by the careless Orcs, and Miriel jammed the erring silver circlet back onto her finger with a muttered "And stay there" before running back with the arrows and cramming them into the Elf's quiver.

Instantly the blonde Elf whipped around, and Miriel found herself looking into a pair of startling, fierce blue eyes and at the shiny silver tip of an arrow aimed right at her heart. Miriel gasped. She stumbled backwards and fell with a cry, but her gaze ever held that of the Elf's, even as he, stunned at meeting her thus, lost his intense angry expression and slowly lowered his bow.

Time stilled and the noise of the battle seemed to fade away as the Elf reached out and helped Miriel to her feet. The boiling clouds overhead parted and for an instant starlight shone down on them. Then came the strangest sound of all in this dark hour: The sound of Elves singing. Helm's Deep vanished and was replaced by a beautiful ageless forest filled with golden trees. Miriel's pain was gone, and her ragged dress was replaced with a shimmering white gown.

At once Miriel thought she must be hallucinating. The pain and fear and sorrow together with lack of food, drink and sleep must have taken its toll on her overwrought mind. But she did not object; this lovely oasis was far and beyond preferable to the hopeless bloody war and death she had left behind.

Miriel could see Elves in the twilight walking softly through the trees, and their sweet songs drifted around her like a soft wind, stealing away her anxiety. Although Miriel couldn't understand the fair Elven speech, the words of their lays pierced her heart, and she felt as if she almost knew what they were saying.

The blonde Elf stood holding her hand, arrayed as an Elven prince. Jewels shimmered on his brow. The glade where they were standing was lit by the bright light of a single star. The Elven prince looked upon her and spoke to her softly in Elven tongue.

"A, elo," he whispered.

"I… it- it's nice to meet you too," replied Miriel, just as awestruck as the Elf appeared to be. She had never seen anyone as fair as he, and Miriel was captivated by his Elvish beauty.

But it was his brilliant blue eyes that captured Miriel. Something about his warm, piercing gaze made her heart skip a beat. It was as if they had met somewhere before, or perhaps had known each other forever, and they knew everything about each other without any words being spoken. Miriel could not look away.

"Who are you?" breathed the Elf, seeming as captivated as she.

Miriel moved to say something, but she was interrupted.

Suddenly Miriel was aware of shouting as if from afar. She craned to look over her shoulder and beheld Aragorn emerging from a cloud of blue smoke, running like fire toward them. His sword blazed in his hand, and he was hollering in Elven tongue.

"Legolas! Legolas!" Aragorn yelled, gesturing wildly as he came on. "Na fennas!"

Immediately Miriel was back in Helm's Deep. Her dress was torn and bloody, and Legolas was a warrior once more. The mysterious woods had disappeared like a thin curtain of silken mist in the afternoon sun as the clouds closed over the brilliant star; the sweet singing became the clash of arms and the throaty grunts of warriors. Miriel shook her head swiftly to clear it; she was sure she had become disoriented and imagined it.

Legolas blinked, then turned briefly back to Miriel. Fury filled his bright sapphire eyes and he dashed back to his place on the wall, leaving Miriel alone where she stood, dripping wet and bloody. Aragorn blew past her without seeing her, screaming at Legolas.

"Togo hon dad, Legolas!" Aragorn cried. Instantly the Elf fitted a shaft to his bowstring and fired below. The entire focus of the defenders had shifted to the causeway, and Miriel went to the wall and looked down. Orcs had crawled up to a small culvert, and now a single Orc ran toward the wall holding aloft a fiercely blazing torch. Miriel's heart caught in her throat. The Orc moved swiftly with such purpose and absolute certainty that something was definitely wrong. Legolas's first arrow was embedded in the thick black hide of his shoulder, but still he came on as if he could not feel pain.

Fear shot through Miriel as she watched the drama play out below her.

"Dago hon! Dago hon!" screamed Aragorn. Legolas took careful aim and buried a second arrow in the torchbearer's neck. The Orc shuddered as if stung, and for a moment it looked as if he would fall.

But with a last desperate plunge the Orc threw himself, and the torch, into the culvert. For a single breathless instant the battle stopped and the world grew dreadfully still.

Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion right beneath Miriel's feet that ripped the ground out from underneath her. She flew screaming through the air with an assortment of Elves and Men. She landed with terrible force facedown on cold hard stone. The ring, released from Miriel's deathgrip, dropped from her finger. Then everything went dark.

**There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

**ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS:**

**Luke Skywalker: **Patience you no longer need, my young Jedi. :-) There are many more chapters after this one. If you like, simply download the whole PDF and the wait will be permanently ended.

**Dashing Daylight:** Thank you for the enthusiastic reviews! Did this one live up to the hype?

**QuenyaAnarya: **NO! You cannot have the certain blonde Elf because… well… because he belongs to Miriel. clears throat and regains composure

**Moryan, and all others wondering about "For The Love of Boromir":** First, thank you for your impatience! I thought I would be done with it already, but as I wrote it, the legend began to form in new and different ways. I am currently crafting it to perfection. Give me a little more time to finish it, and then it too will be in downloadable PDF format, and I will post it here on FFN.


	5. FATE'S ARROW

_**A/N: About FOR THE LOVE OF BOROMIR: **Thank you for all the inquiries I have gotten asking for more of that tale! See the Answers to Reviewers at the end for an update on that fanfiction._

**FATE'S ARROW**

Miriel's eyes flew open and she couldn't seem to draw breath. Gasping wildly, she slapped the ground again and again with her bare hands until at last air rushed into her tortured lungs.

Miriel was shocked to be alive. Her ribcage felt too small and her sides were in agony. She was chilled to the bone and she didn't know how long she had been unconscious. She groaned. The full memory of the blast came back to her, and she pounded her fist in anger.

"Saruman!" Miriel growled. She crammed the ring back onto her finger… and froze.

Suddenly Miriel realized that she had delayed the best Elf archer, Legolas, from reaching the Orc with the torch in time to save the wall. Fury rose in her chest as the full meaning of this crashed down on her. She punched the cold stone again.

"Miriel!" she roared at herself. She crawled to her knees, still fighting to breathe. She peered over the broken edge of the wall, and through the thick clouds of smoke she beheld a sight that nearly stopped her heart.

Orcs poured like rats through the gaping hole in the wall. Aragorn lay unmoving face down in the mud. A few others were strewn near him. Miriel stared in horror. Her blood ran cold as she realized that Helm's Deep was rapidly falling because of her mistake.

Before Miriel had time to kick herself for straying from the caves, she heard a hoarse shout behind her. Turning, she saw Gimli also looking down on Aragorn. Orcs were running straight toward the fallen warrior, and in a moment they would be upon him.

That was too much for the Dwarf. With a cry of "Khazad!" Gimli leapt from the wall into a thicket of spears.

"Gimli!" screamed Miriel. For a terrible instant she could see nothing. Then there was another shout and two Orcs went flying. Gimli appeared boldly swinging his axe and making a great dent in the ranks of the invaders. A score of Elves ran forward to assist him.

Elves!

Suddenly Miriel remembered Legolas. Turning from the wall, she glanced about wildly, shouting his name.

All at once she saw him. He was lying not far away. His great bow had fallen from his cold limp hand, and his gray cloak lay tattered and crumpled over his motionless body.

"Legolas! No!" Her shrill, desperate cry burst forth and was abruptly cut short.

Miriel's hands flew to her throat. She sank down, choking and sobbing, and she fell to her knees.

"Oh no," Miriel whispered brokenly. "Oh no. This is all my fault. Oh Legolas, you… you can't be dead!"

Miriel collapsed and wept. Time stopped and rain poured mercilessly from the sky and mingled with Miriel's tears. The sounds of the battle seemed far away. Darkness closed over her torn heart as all hope faded. Aragorn and Legolas were dead. The wall was being overrun. Helm's Deep was about to fall.

The end would come swiftly now, all because of her.

Abruptly Miriel felt the rain lessen. A few last drops fell soft against her cheek. Miriel stopped crying and looked up at the sky.

The dark clouds parted briefly, and a single star came into view. Its brilliant rays shore aside the night like a flash of lightning. Miriel shielded her eyes from the blinding light. Then the clouds covered over the star and the vision was gone. The rain began afresh. Miriel looked sorrowfully at the Elf lying on the stones.

Suddenly Legolas moved! His head whipped around. With a quick jump he was on his feet. Miriel shrieked and clung to a piece of broken wall, afraid to take her eyes from him. Legolas seemed dazed but otherwise unhurt.

As he stooped to retrieve his fallen bow, Miriel felt her senses returning. She took several deep breaths and swallowed hard to still her pounding heart, and then she hastily climbed to her feet. Miriel grabbed a fistful of arrows and rushed at the Elf.

"Legolas!" she cried, at his side in an instant. "Come quick!" Miriel jammed the arrows into his quiver and dragged him to the stone stairway. "Aragorn and Gimli are down there. Go! Hurry!"

Legolas instantly sized up the situation with a single glance. Moving like lightning, he seized a cast-off Orc shield, stepped onto it and used it to surf down the stone steps, firing arrows as he went. Reaching the bottom, Legolas gave a swift kick and sent the shield into the throat of one Orc, and then he drove an arrow into the neck of another with his bare hands.

Miriel picked up her fallen sword and ran along the wall. She had to get far, far away from Legolas, and the Elves defending the wall needed her help. Seemingly endless supplies of ladders were being raised, and Orcs surged over the wall in great numbers. Every spare sword was needed to keep it from being overrun.

Miriel charged in with a fierce yell and fought bravely. Several times Orc weapons glanced off her chain mail, narrowly missing her. A lucky slice caught her in the shoulder, but Miriel would not back down. One after another the Orcs fell beneath her cold fury and sharp blade. The Elves shouted encouragement and constantly warned her of any threats unseen behind her, and Miriel did the same for them. They forged an instant bond and fought as one. Together they cut down the black forests and kept the storm at bay.

But Miriel's strength was fading. She could not battle Orcs all night at that mad pace. As her fatigue grew, her feet and her reflexes slowed. And then she made an awful discovery: Her traitorous ring was once again missing! Fear clutched at her throat. At any moment an Orc bigger and stronger than she could pounce on her without warning and kill her.

Suddenly an Elf gave a shout, and Miriel turned and beheld a gigantic Orc with a great sword nearly upon her. She raised her own sword and they clashed, but her weapon bounced harmlessly off that of her enemy's like an ocean wave shattering against a rock. Grimly Miriel tried again, but with the same result. Terror shot through Miriel and froze her backbone, and a numbness gripped her mind as she realized she could not overpower this Orc.

Miriel cried out with the last of her strength and swung, but her foe roared and met her sword in midair with a mighty ring. He gave a vicious strike and threw the sword from Miriel's quavering grasp. She heard it clatter on the stones a long way from where she stood.

Certain now of victory, the Orc moved in for the kill and sliced downward on the unarmed maiden, but Miriel ducked out of the way and leapt aside. The black Orc aimed a stroke for her neck. Miriel leaned backward to avoid being decapitated and stumbled over a fallen shield. She shrieked and fought to remain on her feet, but she slipped on the rain-slickened stones and fell hard to the ground, moaning in pain.

Her enemy rose up and loomed over her, terrible and leering, his hideous claws dug deep into the hilt of his sword. He raised his weapon for the final blow.

This was it. This was the moment Miriel had known would come when she left the caves. Miriel steeled herself for the end, staring at her doom with cold gray eyes hard and fell, but crystal tears glistened on her cheeks. Now that the moment had come at last, Miriel found that she didn't want to die. Even though she was helpless to do anything but bravely accept her fate, every fiber of Miriel's being cried out:

_No. I want to live._

The Orc cackled harshly and stood over Miriel, like a giant panther gloating over a trapped young gazelle. Then his sword came crashing down upon her.

But the evil laugh abruptly changed to a roar. The sword stroke went wide and the Orc himself slammed down on Miriel. Cold and unmoving was her enemy now.

Miriel gasped. She was shocked to be alive and unhurt, but she was pinned to the ground under a mountain of heavy armor. As she tried to wriggle free, a fair Elven face appeared over the body of the Orc, and then Miriel felt the black weight being lifted away. The Elf pulled Miriel to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" he asked courteously, glancing over her gashed arms and bloody face. Miriel numbly shook her head. She was dazed and shaking all over, but after a moment she began to recover her composure.

"Yes, yes, I'm all right now, thank you," she managed.

"Haldir! Haldir!" someone shouted, and the Elf ran back to the wall. Miriel realized that this Haldir had just saved her life.

Miriel found that she was indeed hurt all over. A glint of silver caught her eye. She scowled, but she pushed herself up and laid hold of that rebellious ring which seemed to be causing her more trouble than good and slipped it into place on her finger. Then she sat up and granted herself a moment of rest to recover her breath and survey the situation at hand.

She could be of little use with a sword in her present condition; she was exhausted and sore and more dead than alive. But she realized that she could still help the Elves fight the Orcs with their unerring bows. One Elf had just saved her life, and she would do her best to return the favor.

Crawling now on her hands and knees, Miriel sought good arrows, even those of the enemy, and shoved them into the quiver of the nearest Elf. Back and forth she ran, ducking arrows that whistled back over the wall, shouting encouragement, and refilling the Elven quivers with fistfuls of good arrows. A fresh hail of darts rained down upon the Orcs, and the Isengarders were forced to fall back and regroup. Miriel observed the results of her work and smiled grimly. Off she ran to continue her quest.

On her third trip, someone slammed hard into her side and threw her to the ground, and at the same moment, her ring dropped from her slick, clammy finger and rolled mischievously away and disappeared with a wink of silver beneath a scuffle of soldier's feet and iron-shod Orcs.

Suddenly something exploded in her left elbow. Miriel was thrown forward and fell headlong with a shrill cry, writhing in helpless agony on the wet stone and clutching at her elbow. She grabbed blindly at it and felt the solid shaft of a cruel iron Orc arrow embedded in the joint. For a long time she lay screaming as blood poured from the wound.

Through her tears and a thick haze Miriel could see streams of Orcs scrambling up the ladders and onto the wall, and sooner or later one of them was bound to come upon Miriel and finish her. Pain paralyzed her limbs, but wild panic seared through her mind and forced her into motion. She pushed her right arm out in front of her and used it to drag her body slowly, inch by inch, across the waterlogged stones.

The fight was nearly upon her, and an Elf fell to the ground a short distance from where she labored across the wall. His sea-green eyes were wide and staring, brimming with horror and agony. His wandering gaze roved across the darkened stormy skies and locked on Miriel, and his pale lips parted, but no sound came out. Miriel lay beside him, poised as if to move on, but his transfixing gaze paralyzed her. Suddenly the Elf stiffened and reached toward her, but his hand fell before it stretched beyond half the distance between them and he lay back with a shudder, breathing his last.

Miriel screamed in terror and redoubled her efforts. She had to get away from there, fast.

Someone stumbled over her calves in the darkness. She twisted away to avoid being crushed by a falling Orc. The sleeve of her dress tore apart on the rocky ground and shredded away, leaving her unprotected forearm to rub raw on the stones until it was skinned and bloody. All she could see in her mind's eye was that last haunting image of the dying Elf reaching for her, and her overworked imagination twisted that moment so that the Elf was grabbing her arm and taking her with him…

Miriel gave a low cry and resisted and pulled away from him. At last she managed to crawl out of the way, sobbing bitterly. Miriel pulled herself under a small ledge that afforded a little shelter from the battle and the ceaseless torrents of rain. There she lay, gasping like a fish flung onto the shore.

A thick black fog threatened to take her mind, and Miriel longed to slip from this dreadful reality into the comforting unconsciousness and escape. Every excruciating moment was filled with an hour of thought.

What use was there now to remain alive? It was only a matter of time before the Orcs took Helm's Deep. The battle merely delayed inevitable doom. For Miriel, only pain and death awaited her. Her family had met the same fate. Wearily she leaned her head back and mentally prepared to follow them.

But Miriel could still see the black shapes of the Elves through half-closed, tear-filled eyes. They were bravely fighting against the stormy skies, firing arrows and wielding swords, and a thought came to Miriel that she couldn't lay aside. These Elves could have abandoned Middle-earth and Helm's Deep to its fate and sailed into the West, to the Undying Lands, where all wars ceased and only peace remained. Why had they chosen to fight and die for another race that had been long sundered?

She thought of Haldir, the Elf who had saved her life, and suddenly she wondered if it was right to abandon them all, Men and Elves both, when there was still a small chance that she could make a difference.

In her mind, Miriel saw the face of that helpless child she had rescued and returned to the loving arms of his mother. She remembered her steely resolve when she had left the caves in the beginning: That if she was going to die in the end, then she would die fighting.

But she was tired… so, so tired; the kind of tired that she felt no amount of sleep could cure. The horrible pain and darkness at last overcame her. Miriel collapsed and fell into oblivion. She dropped down, down, down into an endless black void. Pain did not exist there anymore. She felt her spirit winging away from her, almost joyfully. It seemed glad to be leaving the world of the living and falling away into the smooth dark depths, into an unrippled crystal sea of the unknown.

Suddenly Miriel saw the golden Elven woods as if it was descending upon her from afar, and she wondered if she was dead. Miriel beheld the graceful Elves floating through it and singing under the light of the great star, as they had done since the beginning of time. Above the lovely chorus of songs came one clear voice, and it was speaking directly to her. Miriel could not understand the language in her mind, but her heart seemed to know the musical words well.

Brono, bara gwend,

No thalion, annui maethor!

Tolo dan na ngalad,

Na en rammas! Na en dagor!

It was a gentle urging and a command at the same time. Miriel felt that the voice was telling her not to give in. Without knowing quite how it happened, her tongue was loosed and Miriel found herself also saying something in Elvish. A desperate cry issued forth from within the deepest part of her soul.

A Elbereth Gilthoniel!

Mornada i venel a andelu i ven.

Le nallon, sî di-nguruthos!

Lasto beth nin a thau nin!

Abruptly Miriel stopped chanting. What was she saying? What did it mean? How did she suddenly know how to speak this strange language? She wasn't even certain that it was the Elven tongue.

As these questions raced through her mind, the star turned its brilliant rays onto Miriel's face. The light was clear as diamond glass, and yet shimmering white. Peace flooded through her heart, and with the sparkling light came strength and a measure of courage. Gentle winds breathed softly in her face and hair.

Then the star released her. The Elves and their bright forest faded into the dark, stormy night. Miriel opened her eyes and found herself once again cowering beneath a stone ledge on the broken wall of Helm's Deep, nursing her wounded elbow. Screams and shouts of men rent the air, and the crash of ringing steel echoed in her ears. The Elven warriors were still fighting off the Orcs that climbed over the wall.

Somehow the intense agony began to lessen. Moving as little as she could, Miriel reached down and tore a long strip from the hem of her dress. She sat up, tears running down her face, and managed to bind the wound tightly. She grimaced in pain, but she gritted her teeth against it. She had to fight to the bitter end if they had any chance of saving Helm's Deep.

Miriel clenched her jaw and pushed herself to her knees, trying in vain to keep her elbow motionless. With a final effort Miriel was on her feet. She swayed drunkenly and caught herself with her good arm as she nearly fell. Unconsciousness was very near, but she fought the darkness. She staggered determinedly out into the rain.

Her left arm was rendered useless and utterly painful, but Miriel dropped to the ground and gathered arrows as best she could with her right hand. She bit down hard on her lip and tears streamed down her face as she struggled on.

Suddenly she heard a shout from the King.

"Aragorn! Fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!"

Miriel's eyes widened in shock. She didn't dare believe her ears. Aragorn, alive?

She spun and looked over the wall in disbelief. Aragorn lived! He was covered in mud and blood, and his matted hair hung limply over his forehead, but his eyes were bright, his spirit was undaunted, and his sword flashed like lightning in a black storm of Orcs. Miriel shook her head. This Aragorn led a charmed life.

Aragorn stopped abruptly and shouted in Elven tongue to Haldir.

"Am Marad! Am Marad! Haldir, am Marad!"

Haldir nodded and issued the order to fall back, and then turned to fight a large Orc. The deadly sword fell on Haldir. Miriel saw Haldir shudder even as he struck the enemy down, and she realized with a shock that the Elf was mortally wounded.

Haldir spun away, dazed and unheeding, as another Orc materialized and raised his sword to strike a deathblow. Miriel screamed into the darkness as Haldir fell under the black blade.

Roaring with grief and anger mixed into an unbearable emotion, Miriel groped for a sword and rose up. Half running, half stumbling, Miriel charged with a hoarse yell and plunged her blade into the back of Haldir's murderer. Blinded by rain and tears, Miriel made her way to Haldir's side. Aragorn was already there, bent with sadness over his friend. Miriel stood by helplessly as Aragorn touched his heart and placed his hand over the cold, still chest of the Elf.

Suddenly Aragorn rose up with dreadful fury and slammed his bare fist into an iron Orc helm. Then he grabbed a siege ladder and leapt from the wall into the terrible swarm of Orcs below.

"Aragorn!" shouted Miriel, even as an Elf running past her gripped her right arm and pulled her away. Reluctantly Miriel left Aragorn and ran alongside the Elf. She joined the soldiers as they burst into the Keep. Other defenders were already there, bravely fighting to keep the gate together. Miriel seized a heavy table and laboriously dragged it to the door. A dozen hands took it from her just as the King came running in with Gamling at his side.

"Brace the gate!" cried King Theoden. He brandished his sword and dashed to the front of the door with Gamling right behind him.

Miriel found some spears and tossed them to another soldier. The great door was splintering and breaking, and it seemed to Miriel that it was only the sheer will of the men that kept it together. Miriel felt helpless, for she could only pass on bits of wood and other materials she managed to find.

Yet it was only a matter of time before the gate fell. Miriel clenched her jaw. If they were only prolonging the inevitable, then prolong it they would. She lugged a pair of heavy battle-axes to the door and gave them to the determined soldiers.

Just then Gamling emerged from the boiling turmoil of men, pulling the King away from the gate. King Theoden seemed to be wounded, but he leaned heavily on a wall, refusing to be taken farther away from his soldiers. He stood and bravely issued commands and encouragement.

Suddenly Aragorn burst into the Keep with Gimli and Legolas behind him. All three were cut and spattered with mud. They looked terrible, but their eyes blazed as they grabbed more wood to shore up the door. Miriel turned and pried a loose beam from the wall. Screams from the women in the caves echoed as if from far away. Theoden King and Aragorn were trading words and shouting orders, but Miriel paid no attention until the gate was temporarily secured. At last she turned her gaze upon the grim faces of her King and the Lord Aragorn.

"So much death," murmured the King softly. He seemed resigned to his fate, much as Miriel had been not so long ago. His voice was devoid of hope; his aged features pale and drawn. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?"

Miriel sighed audibly. The King had a point.

But Aragorn stood tall. His blazing eyes did not falter. As she gazed upon Aragorn, Miriel was surprised at the great power she saw, or sensed, in him. A white jewel gleamed like a star on a silver chain around his neck. Miriel knew without knowing that this Aragorn was a lord equal to King Theoden. His courage and determination to defend Rohan at all costs surpassed even that of Rohan's own king. Aragorn took a step toward King Theoden.

"Ride out with me," Aragorn said, his voice rising. "Ride out and meet them!"

The King stared doubtfully at Aragorn as the pounding of the Orcs raged on outside.

"For death and glory?" he asked quietly, almost sarcastic in the face of the impossible odds.

"For Rohan! For your people!" returned Aragorn hotly.

The air grew deathly still as the two lords stared at one another.

"The sun is rising," remarked Gimli, breaking the tense silence.

All those present turned toward the window as white light poured freely into the dark Keep. The rays pierced Miriel's heart and filled her with sudden hope.

Whether from the coming of the dawn or Aragorn's undying and contagious courage, or both together, the face of the King hardened once more.

"Yes, yes!" declared Theoden King as all trace of doubt vanished with the departing evening. "The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep," he said. He turned and faced his men as his voice rose, hard and fell.

"One last time."

The spell on the air was broken. Miriel dashed away from the door and sprang for the horses. The soldiers were right behind her. Suddenly Legolas was sprinting lightly at her side, but Aragorn passed them both. They burst into the stable and threw saddles onto the great horses of Rohan with all speed.

The bold steeds caught the excitement that caused the very atmosphere to crackle with electricity. They snorted and reared with impatience. They pawed at stone and wood and roared like thunder, setting the rafters ringing with their cries.

Miriel could not calm the horse she had chosen, a tall, well-built gray. She wished Kaspir were not so worn from the long journey, for she did not trust this new horse. The gray stallion plunged into the air, breathing like fire. Miriel spoke softly and pulled at his bridle, but to no avail. She felt fear rising in her chest, fear of riding this huge, unpredictable beast into battle. Her voice rose high and shrill as she tried to get the saddle into place.

"Stay! Stay!" she cried desperately. She tugged on the reins with her good hand, but she could not hold him and put on the saddle at the same time with only one free arm. She gave the leather straps on his head another sharp jerk. "Horse… stay! Stay down!"

But the gray stallion paid her no mind; he reared and slammed Miriel hard to the floor. Miriel shrieked as the arrow in her elbow jolted her with fresh pain. Sharp agony pierced through her and tears clouded her eyes.

Miriel gave up. What was the use of trying anymore? She was a detriment to the battle when she was fully healthy; riding out in her current condition was certain death. Death was the only thing that awaited her now. It was a mere question of how she would meet her end. She pulled her knees into her chest and curled up in a corner, crying in anguish of body and spirit.

Suddenly someone else was there. Miriel looked up through her gray shroud of tears as a hand fell lightly on the stallion's forehead.

"Tiro nin, Thor; sidh, naur-mellon," spoke Legolas softly, breaking into a stream of Elvish too soft and musical for Miriel to rightly hear. But the sound of his voice blew away her tears as if with a fresh breeze, and the gray horse stood watching the Elf, seemingly mesmorized, with his ears pricked as he listened intently. The fire yet burned in his dark eyes and his great shoulders trembled, but his fury was under control.

Miriel marveled. It was as if Legolas had placed a spell over the massive stallion. He stood quietly – not wholly docile, but quiet, and his bold eye followed the Elf's every move.

At last Legolas's chant ended. He sang softly while he quickly saddled the horse, and the stallion craned around to watch Legolas's movements with an earnest curiosity. His ears flicked and he whuffled softly when he saw the Woodland Elf tightening the familiar leather contraptions and straps over his back, and the horse did not object.

And then Legolas went to Miriel. With surprising strength he lifted the girl swiftly to her feet. She looked down at his hand on her arm and noticed, to her amazement, a silver ring on his finger that was curved in the shape of a star. It looked just like the one she had lost on the wall. It was an odd thing to consider under such dire circumstances, and Miriel looked up at Legolas, who had not let go of her waist.

Legolas paused, and his piercing blue eyes met Miriel's gaze and held it.

"You should stay here, my lady," murmured the Elf quietly, looking sympathetically at Miriel's tear-streaked face and torn, dirty dress. He perceived also that she was in pain, although he could not tell where the wound lie. He didn't notice the arrow in her arm. "This battleground is no place for a maiden."

Not long ago, perhaps even only a moment before, Miriel would have agreed. But when Legolas mentioned that the fight was not hers simply because she was a girl, something stirred in her heart. Her resolve came flooding back and hardened to iron.

"Neither are the caves," retorted Miriel. Then, seeing a protest rising from the Elf, Miriel drew herself up, forcing him to release her, and she stared Legolas down sternly. "I will not remain here while you men go out and fight. We are greatly outnumbered. It is likely that we are doomed, and if that is the case, then I would rather die in battle than cowering helplessly in a corner."

"Lady…" he began.

Miriel interrupted him sharply. "I'll not stay here and die!"

Legolas sighed. He saw that he could not prevail on her, and he did not have time to argue with her further. Taking her by the waist, he lifted her and set her on her horse.

"You are very brave, my lady," he said gently, grasping her hand. "Thor is a good horse, as swift and fearless as his namesake, the eagle. Ride behind me, and I will do my best to protect you. Fight hard!"

Miriel swallowed and nodded, and the tall Elf vanished. His words awakened new courage from a reserve buried somewhere inside of her, and she and Thor moved forward to find themselves in the midst of a great company of green-cloaked riders. She grasped the hilt of a sword grimly in her good right hand and kept a ginger hold on Thor's reins with her injured left as she took her place behind Legolas, who was riding on a white horse.

The Elf looked back at her, and Miriel nodded in return. She stiffened and prepared herself for the battle, which would soon be at hand.

The sound of the Orcs pounding mercilessly at the door made Miriel's heartbeat quicken with mingled fear and hate. Light poured unhindered through the window into the dismal grayness of the Keep and fell on King Theoden and Aragorn, who stood together at the head of the riders. Then Miriel was aware that the King was speaking.

"Fell deeds awake," Theoden King growled, drawing forth his sword, which sparkled like fire in the sunlight. "Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And the red dawn!"

Suddenly the Orcs burst through the door, an evil black flood of Uruk-hai that had only time to stop short when they saw the mounted warriors waiting for them.

"Forth Eorlingas!" cried the King, springing forward upon the enemy with Aragorn at his side as the great and terrible horn of Helm's Deep blasted the air. Out swept the defenders of Rohan into the brightening sunlight, slaying Orcs off the causeway like a swift west wind. Miriel shouted with them and wielded her long blade. Ahead of her the other riders cleaved a great path through the dark tide.

Suddenly Miriel heard a wild whinny, and turning she beheld a white rider on a great rearing horse. So bright were the newcomer's garments that it seemed as if he were clothed with the rising sun. Even though the white rider was alone, his coming brought a strange spell over air and land. Miriel halted Thor against her will, and she found she could hardly move, but she was not afraid. A murmur of excitement rippled through the bold defenders of Helm's Deep, and the Orcs stopped, struck with a sudden fear.

"Gandalf," Aragorn whispered in awe.

All at once the lone rider was joined by a massive company of soldiers on horseback that swept down the hills toward the black masses of Orcs.

"To the King!" they cried.

Most of the Orcs turned to face this new threat and pointed a hedge of spears at the oncoming riders led by the White Wizard. But as the riders neared the Orcs, the sun blazed out suddenly over the hills and shone in the eyes of the enemy. Terror seized the Isengarders as the light blinded them. Some fell on their faces, others cast aside both sword and spear, and a great stampede of Orcs streamed away from Helm's Deep as the riders came upon them, slaying left and right.

A few remaining Orcs roared fiercely at the King and made one last desperate charge. With a shout Theoden King and Aragorn met them with their swords.

Miriel gloried in the fight and sent Thor blazing fearlessly among the enemy. Her foes fell one by one. Exhilaration filled Miriel's chest, and the joy of battle was upon her. Her wounds and weariness were forgotten as her sword rose and fell. She beat down Orcs as one might lay a field of blackened wheat low beneath the scythe. The sun glittered off her bright blade as if it were encrusted with diamonds, and her dark hair escaped from its bonds and flew about her face as if it had a life of its own.

Thor galloped madly beneath her and bore her from the bridge and into the hills. Together they burst free of the fighting, and Miriel found they were running alone. She laid a firm hand on the neck of the brave stallion and pulled him up. As she stood alone on a ridge with the new sun breaking behind her, Miriel looked out upon Helm's Deep.

The Orcs were fleeing in a great terror and madness in all directions, driven away in dark swarms by the Rohirrim. Miriel turned and looked back the way they had come. The King and Aragorn and all the green-clad riders were racing to join the White Wizard, and together with Eomer's men they rode to finish the battle. One rider alone cantered toward her. It was Legolas.

Time seemed to slow down, and Miriel realized that the fight was over. A throbbing hum built in Miriel's ears as the excitement faded, and the fire in her chest burned low. Legolas was shouting something as he came on, but Miriel could hear nothing but the pounding hooves of his white horse. She leaned forward, struggling to catch the Elf's words.

Suddenly Thor shuddered violently beneath her. Miriel was caught off guard and shrieked as she was tossed in the saddle like a rag doll, but she clutched desperately at the flying mane and tried to hold on. Roaring madly, Thor rose high in the air and plunged. Miriel lost her grip and was thrown clear as the powerful gray stallion crashed to the earth. Miriel hovered over the land for a long weightless moment, and then the arrow in her elbow slammed into the ground. Miriel screamed in agony; a long, horrible cry that sounded over the battlefield and echoed in the hills.

Blackness stole over her mind, and Miriel fell deep into a painful unconsciousness. She knew this was the end. Dimly she was aware of the voice of Legolas calling her as if from far away. She was being carried and borne gently onto the Elf's white horse. Then wind rushed over her, and they were riding fast.

"Hold on, my lady, hold on," Legolas was whispering desperately in her ear. Then the world ceased to turn, the running horse turned to stone, the bright morning sun was blotted out, and Miriel knew no more.

**There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

**ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS:**

**QuenyaAnarya: **Haldir? I suppose, if you want him all that much:) I can't say that he'll live all that long, though, as this is a canon fanfiction. So you might have to be content with Lord Elrond or Prince Imrahil or… somebody like that. Hey by the way, I read your profile and I thought I should tell you that you CAN write stories and turn off the email alerts in your preferences. In case you're interested:)

**Garfieldboxershorts: **I tried, I really tried! But I'm writing many many things besides LOTR fanfiction. In fact, this was supposed to be my ONLY LOTR fanfiction. Then I got the idea for Boromir's tale… :) I am delighted that you like it, and I would urge you to grab the PDF for reasons I explained more fully to Arien's Shadow (see reviewer reply below).

**Dashing Daylight:** Thank you for the review! I am sure you were not the only one wondering if I was off on a Mary Sue tangent, so I shall take this opportunity to back up my words and address ALL the doubters.

**I assure you: Miriel is NOT a Mary Sue!**

First of all, when a person is placed in a situation of high stress and duress, the human body goes into a fight-for-survival mode. Adrenaline courses through the veins, and the natural senses heighten. Sight grows keener, hearing sharpens, colors become brighter, the reflexes quicken along with breathing and heartrate, and the mind can think at a more elevated level, making automatic decisions in the heat of the moment. The person tends to operate on instinct rather than thought. And strange things can happen to people in said circumstances, like hallucinations. Not necessarily of Elven forests, but I think Elbereth had a hand in this one ;)

Secondly, the ring was a half-size too large for her finger, and when in rain and sweaty conditions, as Miriel was, that ring becomes a good deal slipperier and can escape the grasp of the wearer without a lot of trouble. If you watch Monsters Inc or any of the Pixar films, you'll see what coincidental accidents can do to liven up a plot. :)

I hope that answered all your questions, but feel free to ask away if you have more!

**Arien's Shadow: **I will, but I admit that I am slow at updating, and this one was REEEEAL slow because I was waiting for a couple of late reviews. I'd like to take this moment to thank Vanaloth for putting on the pressure that is responsible for this new chapter! I would very much encourage you to get the PDF file, however, since there are a total of thirty chapters, and it always seems to me that the deeper you enter the story, the worse the cliffhangers get. Also, there is a really cool cover that goes with this tale ;) You don't wanna miss it!

**Vanaloth: **In answer to your question: Today! Sorry to take so long. My suggestion is, again, to download the PDF file, and there will be no more wait. But I warn you that once you dig in to read it, you won't be able to put it down. I'm afraid that I have been personally responsible for many nights of lost sleep in the past. :)

**About "For The Love of Boromir":** First, thank you for your impatience! I finished the entire 45,000 word, 12-chapter fanfiction in a blazing three weeks, and it was not an easy task. But I have good news and bad news regarding this tale.

Bad news: I will not be posting any more of the story here on FFN.

Good news: I'm turning it into the opening book for my twenty-book series! It was too good of a tale to give entirely to Boromir (sorry, buddy) and I got another idea just before I finished it, which actually delayed the finishing of that book. So, if you want to read the altered version when it comes out as an ebook on my website, drop me an email and let me know.

My email is: out the parentheses and you have the address.

I did, however, post one more "chapter" with answers to all the reviewers because I had so many. If you were interested in that tale as well, visit my profile and check out the story entitled: For The Love of Boromir.


	6. LEGOLAS

LEGOLAS

Miriel's eyes slowly opened. Her vision was blurred and she couldn't make out anything. Miriel wondered yet again if she was dead. And then memories of swirling voices came back to her.

"_Valar, but she's just a young maiden."_

"_How did this happen? What was she doing out in the battle?"_

"_She should have been in the caves."_

"_Discuss this later! She's going to die here if we don't see to her wounds. Get her to…"_

There was a gap in Miriel's mind. And then she recalled something else that made her blood run cold:

"_Hold her down. I'm going to pull it out…"_

_This statement was followed by firm hands restraining her and jolt of agony, as if her arm were being torn off at the shoulder and red lava being poured through her body, and a scream Miriel knew as her own, and then nothing…_

As the mist cleared and reality took hold, Miriel found herself staring at a dark ceiling. She blinked, but she did not have the strength to move. The excruciating pain in her arm was replaced now by a dull lingering hurt, and looking down she saw that the arrow was gone and clean bandages were bound thickly over her elbow. Memories of the battle came rushing back to her disoriented mind. She was amazed that she was still alive.

Leaning back, Miriel rolled her eyes around the twilit room and beheld a shadowy figure standing in the corner by the window. The stormclouds had evidently cleared away, for the moonlight poured into the room unhindered, and it would have been lovely at any other time and place, for Miriel's mind was too full of the evils that had taken place of late to fully appreciate it. A full moon was rising, and the silvery light shimmered in the Elf's long blonde hair. His face, the part of it Miriel could see, was drawn with sorrow and weariness. For a long moment he was silent, and Miriel watched him in utter fascination, and sympathy shone in her gray eyes. He was worn with cares from the battle and the loss of his kindred weighted heavily on him. He sighed softly as he stared out into the night.

Once in a while an old raindrop, weary of clinging to the windowsill, dropped to the ground below and landed with a light _plink_. Other than that, all was quiet.

Miriel tried to sit up, but she moaned as fresh pain shot through her elbow. Instantly Legolas was at her side, his fair face full of concern; but Miriel had not heard his light step or seen him cross the floor. She blinked and wondered if she had blacked out momentarily.

"Don't move yet," the Elf coaxed gently, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Miriel struggled for a moment, and then quieted under the firm pressure and settled back wearily.

"Alastar," Miriel muttered groggily.

"Are you in pain?" asked Legolas as if he hadn't heard her.

Miriel sighed and closed her eyes.

"No, not really. I just like to yell."

A relieved smile played on the Elf's lips, and a measure of worry dropped from his creased brow. Miriel thought he looked very peaceful.

"Chew this," he ordered, and she felt something soft and firm touch her lips. She opened her mouth obediently and discovered a mystery herb being pushed into her mouth. She ate it slowly and winced and made a face.

"It doesn't taste very good," she remarked.

"No, it doesn't," Legolas agreed regretfully. "But believe me when I say that the recedence of your pain will be worth the mildly sour flavor."

Miriel nodded and swallowed it down, but she did not feel like speaking.

"It was a very reckless thing you did, lady, joining the battle," Legolas remarked.

"Thanks," replied Miriel dryly, otherwise ignoring the comment. Then she looked around the room. "Where am I?" she asked in a small, weak voice.

"You are in Helm's Deep still," answered Legolas. "Gandalf was here, and so was Aragorn. We tried to mend your elbow as best we could." He grimaced as he looked upon her arm, as if the wound were his own. "Speaking of which, I have something for you."

He took her hand and slipped her own silver ring, shiny again now that it was washed free of mud and grime, onto her finger. Miriel stared at it uncomprehendingly, but she had enough sense to look at Legolas's hand and saw no ring there.

"Keep this," Legolas was saying. "And try to be more careful with it. That is no mere trinket; indeed, it has great worth, which I can only begin to guess at. But I will say that while I carried it for that brief time, it saved my life more than once."

Miriel realized that somehow Legolas had found her ring and taken time to pick it up and put it on. This brought back a lot of bad memories for Miriel, including the image of the dying Elf's last moments; reaching for her as she painfully crawled away from the danger zone. She shut her eyes hard and scowled to force the past away from her conscious thought. She rubbed her aching forehead; there were voices from her family members that she would never hear again echoing in her mind. She shuddered and bit her lip. She needed to focus on the future or she would find no will to go on.

"What of the battle?" Miriel finally asked as her head began to clear. She moved her elbow cautiously and found that Legolas was right about the herb; there was a mild jab of pain, but it was nothing she could not handle. Miriel looked at Legolas; her question seemed to have brought him back from his own reverie.

Legolas abruptly grinned and turned sparkling eyes on the maiden.

"Can't you tell? Here we sit, chatting quietly in the tower while Orcs roam freely about the fortress." He laughed merrily.

"No, truly!" snapped Miriel, in no mood for jest, especially forced jesting on her account. Mirth seemed out of place on this dark night. She sensed that Legolas was a deep well of laughter and gaiety, but in this instance, he appeared to be trying too hard to cheer her up, and it annoyed her. Legolas took one glance at Miriel's steely gray eyes and sobered.

"The Orcs were finished the moment Gandalf arrived with the Rohirrim," he hastily amended. "The black hosts of Isengard fled in terror at their coming. But one of their final desperate shots was at you."

The memory came rushing back to Miriel, and she gasped as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her.

"What happened to my horse?" cried Miriel suddenly.

"Alas! Brave Thor fell to the evil dart," Legolas replied. Miriel lowered her eyes, and Legolas hurriedly continued. "But a little higher and that arrow would have struck you down, and far greater would have been our loss."

Miriel looked up. Tears glistened on her pale cheeks like tiny stars.

"Thor," she whispered, and was silent for a while. Then she stirred again.

"Helm's Deep is safe," she murmured softly with a weak smile at Legolas.

Legolas looked upon her tenderly.

"Thanks in part to you, my lady," he replied.

A spasm of pain twisted Miriel's fair features, and her face went dark.

"How can you say that," she whispered, choking, "when I nearly destroyed Helm's Deep single-handedly? You and Aragorn almost died because of me, and the Orcs succeeded in blasting the wall because I delayed you from shooting the torchbearer, and many lives were lost when the enemy came through that great hole. Men… and Elves… died because of me. I caused terrible losses and great suffering and came but a hair's breadth from causing all of Helm's Deep to fall. Because of my actions, Mordor and Isengard almost took Rohan, just like that." She shuddered. "Oh, would that I had never strayed from the Glittering Caves of Aglarond!" And Miriel broke off sobbing.

"Baw! Don't say that!" cried Legolas hastily, putting his fingers over her lips. "Don't talk that way."

"But it's true," moaned Miriel miserably. "It was no place for a bungling maiden like me who has not been properly trained in the arts of war-"

"In battles such as these, every warrior makes mistakes," interrupted Legolas vehemently, irritated in his own right. But all trace of annoyance was eclipsed by the admiration that shone through in his next words. "But if you had not fought alongside us, Helm's Deep might have fallen but for the arrows you gathered for our archers. Aragorn and Gimli would have perished if you had not pulled me to the stair in time. And then there was your brave defense of the wall..." Legolas stopped and refocused his vision on Miriel. "No, my lady, your efforts were vital to the survival of Rohan. If anything you did came to ill, all the good paid the score far above and beyond."

"I don't see it that way," Miriel retorted between violent sniffles.

"Nevertheless, it's the truth. And here we sit in peace, and the standard of Rohan yet flies free over the Riddermark as testament," answered Legolas, growing gentle again.

Miriel was too weak to argue with the Elf, and he seemed to sense it. Her sobs quieted under Legolas's hand. Miriel's gray eyes flickered with a dim silver flame of hope, but her brow furrowed as she remembered something from the night before.

"Were you very mad at me for holding you up when Aragorn shouted your name?"

Legolas winced and looked uncomfortable. He was silent for a while. When he turned at last, he spoke haltingly and avoided her glance.

"I was not angry with you, my lady. I was furious with myself." He sighed. "I let my concentration waver, and because of that moment the wall nearly fell. Forgive me, my lady, for staring angrily at you. It wasn't your fault. I take the blame for not reaching the torchbearer in time."

Miriel gazed at the Elf through tear-clouded eyes, and suddenly she smiled.

"You comfort me, Legolas of the Elves," Miriel said. "And there is nothing to forgive. But still-"

"Speak no more of it," Legolas interrupted. "You need to rest."

"There is one other thing I'd like to know first, Legolas," put in Miriel hastily.

He sighed, but relented. "What is it?"

"Did you see the Elven forest when you took my hand?"

Legolas smiled, and a soft glow filled his face. "Yes, I did. I saw a great host of my fair kindred singing through the golden trees of Lothlorien under the light of Earendil, the Evening Star, most beloved of the Elves. Indeed, I saw it."

"You seemed as a great prince then," said Miriel softly.

"And you as a queen," Legolas returned instantly.

Miriel's eyebrows jumped in surprise, but she did not reply. There was nothing she could say to that. Instead she changed the subject.

"I saw that forest again, when I got this." Miriel indicated her bandaged elbow. "I might have died from the sheer agony if it weren't for that star, or for- for her."

"Her? Her?" cried Legolas, leaning forward in excitement. "Did you see Elbereth?"

"Elbereth?" wondered Miriel, speaking the strange name softly. "Elbereth? That name was in the song, my song, the one I couldn't understand!" She pondered quietly. After a moment Miriel turned back to Legolas and answered his question.

"I don't know. I didn't see her, I don't think. I don't even know who this Elbereth is. But I heard a voice. She spoke to me, in the Elven tongue. Whatever she said, her words made my wounds bearable and gave me the strength I desperately needed to finish the battle."

"It must have been Elbereth," declared Legolas reverently.

They did not speak for a long time. A gentle breeze blew in from the window. Pale silver moonlight lit the room with a soft shimmering glow. Not a single sound could be heard, not the restless whinny of a horse or the calling of the night owl, or the shrill squeak of a bat. All the world was quiet, as calm as the sea after a great and terrible storm. At last Legolas stirred.

"Sleep now, my lady." He pulled a warm blanket over Miriel and stood for a time quietly looking down at her before returning to the window.

Gratefully Miriel closed her eyes. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she had slept a full night, free of worry and shadows. The bed was the softest she had ever been in before. The thick blankets kept out the evening chill, and her pain was receding rapidly. She stirred and settled into the pillow.

"Legolas?" wondered Miriel presently.

He turned with a smile that held a hint of amusement at her continued questioning. "Yes?"

"Why do I have my own room?" She looked around at the stone chamber – not rich or luxurious by any stretch, but surely better than many alternatives. "There must have been scores of wounded Men and Elves, and I imagine they are crammed into some… I don't know… tents, perhaps, or other lodging far less comfortable."

Legolas laughed warmly, halting any further comments that threatened to issue forth from Miriel. She gave him a puzzled frown, wordlessly asking him to explain himself.

"That is beyond your concern, or mine," he answered her. "I assure you that the soldiers are being well cared for and every effort is being made to see that they are comfortable."

"Perhaps, but why should I not share their hardship?" Miriel demanded. "That isn't very fair, especially when-"

"You are here because you are a maiden," Legolas interrupted her yet again.

Miriel scowled. "Because I'm a _maiden? _Now wait just a minute-"

She pushed herself up on one arm, only to be met by Legolas' firm hand on her chest holding her down.

"That is enough," he said to her sternly, but his eyes betrayed gentleness despite the unbending iron in his voice. "The decision has been made, and the orders came from higher up. It is not for you, or me, to argue. The least you can do now is show a little gratitude."

Miriel was far too weak to struggle with the Elf, so she gave in and leaned back with a sigh of resignation.

"I am grateful," she mumbled.

Legolas's mouth twitched into a little smile. "I know you are. Now for the second time, get some rest."

Miriel saw no alternative but to mildly accept. She did not object when Legolas arranged the blanket around her again, and she smiled appreciatively at him instead, placated by the knowledge that he was not the one responsible for her being moved into these quarters and given better treatment than the common soldiers, which Miriel felt she neither wanted nor deserved. The smile was returned, and for a brief moment, Legolas's lingering hand rested softly against her cheek. She let her face drift sideways into his palm, and her jangled spirit was soothed and stilled. She obediently closed her eyes as Legolas left her and returned to the window. She was just about to slip into peaceful dreams when suddenly another thought came to her. Her eyes popped open, and she lay staring at the Elf.

"What about you, Legolas?" she asked at length.

Legolas turned and regarded her, puzzled. "What do you mean, my–um, my lady? Forgive me, I do not know your name."

"I'm Miriel," she replied quickly as if it were of no importance, impatient to get the answers to her own questions.

Legolas was apparently in no such hurry. His inherent grace as he glided across the room took the edge off Miriel's own haste as if casting a spell over her. She studied him in puzzlement and mused to herself. How could one so powerful and deadly in battle possess such fluidity in his agile movements?

"Miriel," Legolas repeated slowly, returning to the bedside and kneeling beside her. "Mae govannen. Gil sila erin lu govaded min, Miriel."

Miriel blinked, her thoughts returning fully to the present. "What?"

"It means, 'Well met indeed. A star shines on the hour of our meeting, Sparkling Like Jewels,'" replied the Elf with a smile.

"Sparkling Like Jewels? Is that what my name means?"

Legolas nodded and took her hand. The intensity of his gaze was almost too much for Miriel's heart.

"Now, Lady Miriel, you were asking me a question."

"Oh yes," she said, remembering. "What about you? Where will you sleep?"

"Elves do not sleep," answered Legolas with a grin. "We can rest our minds even while we remain in the waking world. Therefore I will keep watch."

"I see," Miriel murmured in awe, her gaze drifting toward the window. Then she looked up sharply. "What about food? Have you eaten anything?"

Legolas cast his eyes to the floor sheepishly and shook his head.

"Then what in Middle-earth have you been doing the whole time this battle has been over?" cried Miriel, astonished. "Surely even you perfect Elves have to eat once in a while!"

Legolas chuckled softly and nodded affirmatively.

"Then I'll ask you again what has kept you from the table," said Miriel with a sharp edge in her voice. She felt strangely angry with him for not taking care of himself.

"I have been– er– busy, my lady," replied Legolas, avoiding her gaze.

"What do you mean, you've been b–" Suddenly light dawned on Miriel, and she stared at Legolas in wonder. "You haven't left me since we arrived, have you." It was a statement of mild reproach rather than a question.

Legolas looked straight at her. Miriel caught her breath, but she steeled herself and struggled to sit up, biting her lower lip against the pain. Legolas instantly protested, but Miriel stopped him short with a sharp glance and determinedly pushed herself up until she was sitting, supported by her one good hand rigidly planted on the bedsheets behind her. She sat eye to eye with the fair blonde Elf.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me, and for your constant vigilance, Legolas," she told him gently. "But I'm fine now, and Helm's Deep is quite safe by your own account. Leave and get something to eat. You need to keep up your strength."

Legolas shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay here while you sleep and make sure you're all right."

Suddenly Miriel lurched forward and seized the collar of Legolas's tunic and gripped it with surprising strength.

"Leave me," she ordered fiercely. "My part in this war is over, but you will be needed again ere the end. More dark battles lie ahead, and your path will take you deep into danger and shadow." She gentled just as quickly and continued with a more even temper: "But for tonight, Legolas, eat a good supper and celebrate this victory with the King of Rohan and your friends."

Legolas smiled. "You are very poetic, Lady Miriel."

"Elves aren't the only ones capable of fair speech," retorted Miriel, staring at him seriously. She raised her dark eyebrows threateningly. "And don't you try to change the subject, Legolas. Supper. Now."

Legolas was obstinate. Miriel gazed at Legolas and drew him closer. She softened and quietly stopped the protest she instinctively felt was coming.

"I won't rest until you do," she whispered, smoothing back a stray lock of his gold Elven hair. She looked deep into his blue eyes. "I'm quite beyond death, I assure you. I'll be fine, Legolas. Now go."

Legolas stared at her for a long moment, studying her. Miriel was enchanting. She had the innocence of a child, the fire of a storm and the beauty of a queen. She could be both merry and deadly serious, fragile as a new butterfly and brave as a roaring lion, terrible as thunder and gentle as a spring rain. Fear had no conquering hold over her, and although Legolas sensed that she was still in great pain and suffering from some deep sorrow, Miriel concerned herself with the welfare of others before herself. Miriel was like no one Legolas had ever met, Elf or mortal, in all the long years he had walked in Middle-earth.

At last Legolas slowly nodded, and Miriel released him. He arose and bowed swiftly, and then he was gone.

Miriel lay back wearily and collapsed on her pillows. She was exhausted, but sleep eluded her. Thoughts of Legolas filled her mind instead. His mere presence was a healing balm to her wounded soul. She drew much-needed strength from him, and for his care, she appreciated him to no end. But there was something mesmorizing about him. His piercing blue eyes could flash like lightning in terrible anger or overflow in shining rivers of happiness, or be as calm and peaceful as the deep sea under the moonlight. His smooth brow was young and yet old at once, full of wisdom and years but undimmed by the gray lines of time. His fair locks trailed down and cascaded about his shoulders like silken waterfalls. Expressions passed over his face like wind on the mountainside, ever changing, and each mood seemed to hold greater intensity than the last. Miriel turned toward the window and watched the bright stars glittering like diamonds in the night skies.

It was thus in deep contemplation that Legolas found her when he returned to the tower. Miriel glanced up at him and smiled.

"That was quick," Miriel lightly remarked. "Are you certain you got enough food?"

"Of course!" Legolas replied, grinning merrily. "I eat swifter than ordinary mortals. I'm an Elf, you know."

Miriel's eyes sparkled as she smiled back.

"Elves," she muttered, shaking her head. And then she sighed contentedly and fell fast asleep even as Legolas sat down near the window.

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**There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

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**QuenyaAnarya: **Tell me in the reviews when your story gets up! I should like to know. Delighted to help! And thank you, yes, I'm trying to keep them coming within a reasonable amount of time, but my other books are absorbing most of my attention and creativity at the moment.

**Dashing Through the Snow: **Hey I love your new name:-D I'm kind of disappointed myself because For The Love of Boromir turned out so perfect, but… trust me, it's for the best. :-) It was rare for a Rohirric maiden to have dark hair, but not impossible. The people of the Riddermark were distantly related to the people of Gondor, being sundered by war early in the history. That goes way, way, way back in the Silmarillion.

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**A/N: **_In other news, I have one more free download up on the website – a simple humorous one-shot involving Faramir and his Ithilien Rangers trying to recruit for their hockey team! The link is active at last as of two days ago. Enjoy!_


	7. ON THE CAUSEWAY

ON THE CAUSEWAY

In the morning Miriel awoke to glad sunlight streaming into the chamber. She sat up and found only a shadow of pain remaining in her elbow, although she could not yet move the stiff joint. Whatever medicine Aragorn and Gandalf had used on her wounds worked like magic. She turned to greet Legolas, and found the Lady Eowyn sitting by the window instead.

"Where is Legolas?" asked Miriel.

Eowyn of Rohan turned, and a smile lit her cold grim face, but a strange light burned in her eyes.

"He has gone to take council with the King, Gandalf, and– Lord Aragorn," Eowyn replied, speaking the last name softer than the others. Then the Princess stood up, and the sun changed her long golden hair to pure white, nearly as white as Gandalf's garments had been when he appeared on the hill the morning before. She looked as beautiful and commanding as a queen, but as stern and cold as a frozen wintry morning. Miriel felt in awe of her.

"How are you feeling?" inquired Eowyn, and the vision passed as the princess stepped away from the light.

"I'm fine," returned Miriel impatiently. "Tell me, what is happening now?"

Eowyn sighed, and her eyes went dark. "The work of burial is beginning. It will be a long, hard labor, for many men fell in the defense of Rohan. But harder still for our hearts to bear is the great loss of the Elves, for they gave up everything, even the grace of their lives, to save our people." She was silent for a long time, her gaze cast downward.

Miriel didn't answer. She was thinking of Haldir. The melancholy silence lengthened its hold over them.

"How is Legolas?" asked Miriel after a while.

"Legolas is well. He will go with King Theoden, Gandalf and Lord Aragorn. They are traveling to Isengard to speak with that miserable traitor, Saruman," Eowyn finished with a low growl.

"What!" cried Miriel, tearing away the blankets and nearly leaping from the bed in a sudden panic, heedless of her pain. "When do they leave? Or have they left already?"

"No, no, not yet. Take it easy," said Eowyn, coming and catching Miriel as she tried to stand up. "Sit down. They are still here. I don't think they would leave without saying farewell. They are departing later on, and we will both see them ere they go. But first let's get you on your feet, gently this time. I brought a new dress for you also. Then we will go down to breakfast, if you are hungry."

Miriel suddenly realized that she had not eaten much besides a little bread in two days, and she was starving. She allowed Eowyn to help her to her feet. Miriel wobbled painfully, but she fought to maintain her balance and took a few stiff, halting steps toward the window. Her lungs hurt and her ribs were sore from falling on stone when the wall exploded under her the night before. She cautiously stretched her body from side to side, testing her aching muscles and forcing them to unkink. But there were some movements that were as yet impossible for the pain they gave her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, but she faced the window so that Eowyn would not see the extent of her suffering. She stopped and regained control of herself, and turning, Miriel smiled wryly at Eowyn.

"I feel like I've been fighting a war," Miriel commented dryly.

Eowyn slowly grinned, but there was no mirth in her eyes. She helped Miriel change into a clean white gown. Miriel marveled at the fine cloth and realized with a start that it must be one of Eowyn's own dresses, but she said nothing. She merely ran a hand full of wonder over the thick, smooth material. She had never touched anything like it in all her life.

"What you did was very brave," remarked Eowyn, seemingly unaware of Miriel's feelings.

"I felt the Orcs coming, and I knew they would slaughter us all in those caves," declared Miriel. "I did not wish to sit and do nothing but wait quietly for the end."

Eowyn stared hard at Miriel.

"Neither did I," the princess replied, as if from far away. "Neither did I." Then in a voice too soft for Miriel to hear, she added sternly, "And I won't. Never again."

Miriel was adjusting her new dress and her back was to Eowyn, so she did not see the fire and fell determination blaze forth in the princess's gray eyes.

"What did you say?" Miriel asked without looking up.

"Nothing," returned Eowyn quickly. "Well!" Her tone was light, as one who has stared down many dark paths and made up her mind at last. "If you are ready, Lady Miriel, let us go down and take our breakfast."

"I'm famished," rejoined Miriel instantly. She followed Eowyn down a winding staircase and left the tower behind.

Breakfast that morning was a lonely affair. Eowyn and Miriel were the only ones who had not yet eaten. It was poor fare, mostly hard bread and cheese, but to Miriel it seemed the most wonderful food she had ever tasted in her life. She did the simple meal such justice that it brought a smile to Eowyn's tired, grim face.

"I must now leave and look after the women and children," said Eowyn at length, when they had finished. "Would you like to return to the tower and rest?"

Miriel shook her head. "I should rather like some fresh air," she replied. "It has far greater healing powers then cold gray walls of stone."

"Very well," Eowyn consented reluctantly. "You may wander a little on your own, if you have the strength to spare. But do not tire yourself! I was under strict command not to let you move about much so soon after such an injury."

Miriel nodded and smiled wryly. She could guess whom those orders came from. After Eowyn departed, Miriel donned a dark gray cloak and walked out to the broken wall to observe the battlefield in the light of day.

It was a terrible sight. Piles of fallen Orcs blackened the land, and holes were being dug everywhere by weary warriors. Indeed the fallen defenders were many, and Miriel's heart sank as she looked upon the multitude of graves already completed and knew that the work had only just started.

But as Miriel gazed upward, she saw that the rainclouds were gone, and the sun shined upon Rohan gladly. The wind blew gently, lifting Miriel's dark hair softly about her face and whipping freely through her cloak and white dress. Miriel spread her arms and breathed deep, glorying in the bright morning sunlight.

"Lady Miriel!" a musical voice called from below. Miriel's attention was bought abruptly downward and she beheld Legolas, standing tall and fair, with King Theoden, Gandalf, Aragorn and the dwarf Gimli. Legolas had stepped away from the others to call her. Miriel smiled down on him. Legolas beckoned to her, and she went quickly down from the wall and onto the causeway. She shuddered as she walked among the ruined stones, even in the daylight, for it brought back terrible memories from the night before. But she was glad to see Legolas.

"Mae govannen, mellon nin," Miriel greeted him with a smile.

"You learn quickly, my lady," returned the Elf with obvious surprise and pleasure as he bowed. Miriel put her hand on his arm to get his full attention.

"Legolas, I'm really sorry for my behavior last night." Her eyes did not meet his as she spoke, and instead her cheeks burned with shame as she remembered how she had treated him, while he cared for her with the utmost selfless concern. She bit her lip and winced. "You were nothing but kind to me, and I'm afraid I was rather-"

"Upset," Legolas interjected, and when Miriel dared to glance up at him and read his expression, she found indulgent amusement and suddenly felt like a child. He grinned at her. "Completely understandable, under the circumstances. We were all out of sorts after meeting with a host of Orcs. Uruk-hai never put me in a good mood."

Legolas laughed at his own words, and after a hesitation, Miriel joined him. But Miriel looked closer at him, searching beneath the cover of mirth, and she noticed suddenly the faint circles that ringed his cheekbones, under his brilliant blue eyes. He seemed tired and restless, as if something heavy weighed on his mind. An indecision…

"Are you alright?" Miriel questioned him in mild concern.

Legolas smiled, but Miriel noticed it was a trifle forced. "Yes, yes, I am well. A little sore after last night's battle. And you?"

Miriel was amused at that. "About the same as you, but I trust there are no lasting side effects thanks to your care and Aragorn's Athelas," Miriel replied gratefully.

Legolas smiled gently. He seemed relieved that she probed no further into the matter, however, and Miriel wondered both at his reaction and that she had picked up on it. But Legolas was already moving forward in case she might become more inquisitive.

"Come, allow me to introduce you to the King."

With that he took her on his arm and led her to the small company of great men who were deep in conversation. They looked up as Legolas and Miriel approached.

"My lord king," murmured Miriel in awe as she drew near the King with a graceful curtsey. Theoden King, seeming none the less for wear from his injuries the night before which he bravely showed no sign of now that morning was upon them, looked upon the young girl in wonder.

"So you are the maiden who fought to save Helm's Deep," he said. "How is it that you, a woman, went unnoticed among us?"

Miriel blushed nervously and glanced at Legolas. She wondered what the Elf had told the King of her adventures during the battle.

"Well, my lord," replied Miriel hesitantly, turning back to the King, "You were a little busy."

This unexpected answer brought a smile to the White Wizard's face, and Aragorn lowered his head and concealed a grin behind his hand. Only the King nodded seriously, but his keen gaze never left Miriel.

"You are not unlike Eowyn, in many ways," the King commented, and Miriel bowed her head at the compliment. "Tell me, daughter of Rohan, who is your father?"

Miriel looked up sharply. Her cheeks paled and sudden tears sprang to her eyes and sparkled in the sunlight like golden stars, but she raised her chin bravely and forced her choked throat to produce intelligible words.

"He is dead," was her simple reply. She struggled to keep the tremor from her voice. "He was killed by the Orcs, along with the rest of my family. I alone escaped, but now I am the last of my line."

King Theoden nodded sympathetically. "I thought I perceived some deep sorrow in you, Lady Miriel." He paused uncertainly and narrowed his eyes at Miriel, studying her. "You seem familiar to me. I know your face."

"Perhaps it is not my face that you know," answered Miriel steadily. "In me, you see the distant shadow of another. My mother's name was Rowen."

The King's eyes widened.

"Rowen? Rowen, who was a handmaid to my wife, the Queen Elfhild?"

Miriel nodded. "The very same."

"That is evil news indeed," said Theoden. He turning away and sighed, looking bent and old with weary cares and sorrows. He stared unseeing over the land and murmured as if he were far away. "Rowen raised my son, Theodred, while he lived. Now, alas, all the fair flowers of Rohan are passing away into shadow."

Silence fell. No one moved. Gandalf watched Theoden with some concern, his wizened face deep in thought. Gimli leaned on his axe and ran a roughened thumb absently over the sharp blade. Legolas stood at Miriel's side and put a comforting hand on her arm. Only Aragorn noticed this along with the expression of deep sympathy the fair Elf wore, and he raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The King looked up again and stared hard at Miriel.

"We are more alike than you know, Lady Miriel. You are the last of your house, and I am the last of mine. You have lost your parents, and I have lost my child. If you are willing, Lady Miriel, I would have you dwell in my house, and be a sister to Eowyn, and thus you would be as my own daughter all the days of your life."

Miriel gasped and glanced at Legolas, and then Aragorn and Gandalf, who were all beaming back at her. Even Gimli's fierce black eyes twinkled merrily. A sudden smile lit Miriel's face, and then she sobered as she realized this would mean she was now a princess in the land of Rohan. She knelt, humbled and grateful, before King Theoden.

"You have given me far more than I could have ever wished for," she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

The King took her hand and raised her to her feet. He looked into her shining eyes, which were both sad and full of joy at once.

"By accepting my offer, you give me hope," replied the King.

"And you restore a measure of mine," Miriel answered.

King Theoden smiled and made a proclamation, addressing his words to Miriel but speaking loud enough that all could hear.

"Legolas told us part of your tale from the battle, but I'm quite sure there is far more to learn than any of us know. When I return, I would hear the full account and cast it into verse, and it shall not be forgotten until the last days of Rohan have passed away."

He paused, and then added, "But as for today, Rohan lives on, because of the great deeds of a few brave men, a host of Elves, and one fearless maiden."

Miriel blushed. She felt the urgent need to escape, but her knees were too weak to allow for such drastic action. Words failed her, so she merely bowed her head and curtseyed. But then the King himself bowed to her, and Aragorn and Gandalf also, to Miriel's shock and dismay, before they turned and walked back to the stables. Gimli bowed lastly in dwarf fashion and followed the great lords with a grin on his face. Miriel and Legolas were left alone.

"I can't believe it," murmured Miriel breathlessly.

"What can't you believe?" asked Legolas, standing at her side as they looked out upon the golden windswept lands of Rohan.

"Everything," answered Miriel in a voice full of awe. "It's all so… so unreal. If it weren't for these wounds, I would say all that has happened was nothing more than an evil dream."

"Not entirely evil, Lady Miriel," put in Legolas, taking her hand in his. "A brighter day always follows a dark night's end."

Miriel nodded, and they were silent. But then Miriel frowned and shook her head.

"Yet this is not the end, Legolas. War has only begun. Saruman remains, and Sauron's reign is yet unhindered. The roots of evil run deep, and Sauron is a formidable foe. I fear for the survival of Middle-earth, Legolas. The sun shines on our hour of victory, but dark clouds loom in the eastern skies. Middle-earth is fast becoming a land of Shadow, and only… and only…"

Miriel broke off and turned to face Legolas. "Only the Elves have a way of escape, Legolas. You could sail into the West, across the Sea, where the black hand of Sauron holds no dominion."

"All it takes for evil to triumph is enough good Elves to do nothing," stated Legolas. "I will not be one of those who simply sit by and watch while Sauron has his way."

"But evil is so deeply entrenched that we may never be free of its grasp!" Miriel cried.

Legolas smiled gently as he looked upon the fair maiden.

"Nay, my lady, do not despair. There is yet hope! Rohan is not alone. All the free peoples of Middle-earth will unite, for Sauron is their common enemy. There will be a great battle, but I cannot foresee the end.

"Even the Elves have joined in the alliance, for they know that Sauron will not stop with the conquest of Middle-earth," continued Legolas. "Sauron was the downfall of the land of Numenor. Now he desires kingship of Middle-earth, and if he attains it, what then? Is there anything beyond his grasp? He will not be satisfied, and his arm will reach out and clutch at all it can. Perhaps even the Undying Lands will not remain a safe haven for all time. And so we battle him, here and now."

Miriel smiled at the Elf, comforted, and lowered her eyes. Legolas pressed her hand gently and continued.

"As for myself, I shall not abandon this cause, but I will fight to whatever end, for good or ill. But when this is over, Miriel, I shall return to you. Then we shall never be parted again from the circles of this world."

Miriel's eyes grew large and round. She looked up at him searchingly. He looked less tired. The indecision she had seen in his eyes earlier was gone and replaced by a look of overwhelming emotion that frightened and fascinated Miriel at once, and a jolt of lightning shot down her spine and rendered her inert. She stood there, rooted to the spot, and she could form no words. She cast about wildly for some response; something, anything coherent with which to break the silence which hung between them. A nervous laugh escaped her, but she found that she could hardly breathe.

"Are you telling me… what I think you're telling me?" she asked hesitantly.

Legolas smiled brightly with deep meaning in his brilliant blue eyes, and he gently kissed her hand. Miriel trembled at the touch. She sobered and bit her lip, but her flushed cheeks betrayed her. Her heart was pounding wildly like a battering ram against her chest. The sound alone was deafening.

"Oh, no," she said in a voice barely above a whisper, but her objection was halfhearted. She strove to deepen her voice and breathe more fervency into her words. "No, Legolas, that could never be. I wish, but... we can't. I… I mean, us. We can never be together. I am a mortal. You are Elf-kind. I can't follow you beyond the Sea." The last sentence was spoken with dispair.

"I know that," answered Legolas steadily, looking into her eyes.

Miriel frowned in puzzlement. "Then what are you saying?"

"That I will not leave for Valinor when my time comes," Legolas replied, smiling gently. "I will stay here in Middle-earth... with you."

Miriel looked up sharply, horrified at the full meaning of Legolas's words.

"What? You can't!" she cried, tearing her hands from Legolas's grasp. "You can't do that. You don't know what you're saying. You're talking about choosing the path of Luthien Tinuviel! You would be lost to the Elves forever, and you could never see the Undying Lands! Never to sail the Sea... into the West..."

Miriel broke off, overcome with emotion and trembling all over. Rivulets of tears were running down her face. She slowly backed away from the Elf. "I won't let you do this, Legolas. It would be too terrible a thing. If you remain here, you will die!"

Miriel was fighting panic and trembling violently. Legolas gazed sadly at Miriel and stepped closer to her, longing to take her in his arms and hold her and dry her tears with a gentle forefinger, but he held himself back and spoke to her instead, hoping to draw her to him with the power of his words.

"There are some fates worse than death," he said quietly.

"Not this, not this," insisted Miriel, weeping miserably. She swayed on her feet as if she found the forces of gravity too great to withstand. She was in a terrible agony of the mind, and she spoke in broken sentences, half to herself. "Oh, why did I ever venture forth from the Glittering Caves of Aglarond? All that I have gained does not begin to compare to what I have lost. And now this! Oh, would that we had never met!" And Miriel turned away, sobbing bitterly.

The urge to comfort her became overwhelming. Legolas took another step toward her until he was standing beside her.

"My lady–" began Legolas, reaching for Miriel.

"No!" Miriel cried, rushing past the Elf. "Don't call me that!" And then she was running blindly back to the tower, stumbling on the steps, her vision so blurred by tears that she had to feel her way along the wall as one stricken blind. Legolas called to her, but she did not heed him. An impenetrable blackness descended upon her spirit.

She reached the tower at last and threw herself across the bed, weeping as though her heart would break, until her pillow was soaked through with an endless river of tears. The pain in her chest hurt far deeper than any wound she had received in battle. For indeed she loved Legolas, and she knew it; denying him was a horrible, terrible thing, and she reckoned it worse than death.

Legolas remained, still and silent on the broken causeway, as the sun climbed in the sky from morning toward noon. He glanced up at the tower from time to time, but there was no movement, and the window was dark and empty.

He sighed heavily and walked into the stables at last, for he knew Gandalf and King Theoden were anxious to depart for Isengard. But his heart felt like a great stone within him, and he dragged his habitually light feet as he went to saddle his horse Arod.

Aragorn noticed his companion's bowed head right away and perceived the cloud that hung over the Elf's head. Aragorn left his own stallion, Brego, fully tacked in his stall. Legolas was moodily brushing out his horse's thick white mane when Aragorn approached.

"What is it, Legolas?" Aragorn asked.

"Nothing," replied the Elf shortly.

Aragorn entered the stall and gave Legolas a wry look. Aragorn was very perceptive, and he had known Legolas far too long to be fooled by light words.

"You Elves are lousy liars," said Aragorn with a grim smile, but he sobered as he entered the stall.

Legolas glanced up at Aragorn, but quickly looked away again when he saw the expression of quiet knowing on Aragorn's face. Aragorn sat down uninvited on a bale of hay and absentmindedly fingered the white jewel at his throat.

"The sundering of our races is a hard thing, sometimes," muttered Aragorn, thinking of another Elf from another time and another place. "Gifts were bestowed on Men, one of which is death, to pass from this world to a place far greater, a land beyond even the sight of the Valar. Likewise gifts came to the Elves, such as beauty and immortality, and the timeless land of Valinor. But these gifts become as dark as an eternal doom when one tastes the bitterness of a parting beyond all the world."

Legolas turned and beheld Aragorn's face full of sadness and understanding, and he did not begrudge the presence of the Ranger. Aragorn was there to help him. Legolas abandoned his unnecessary task and sat down heavily next to his friend, setting the brush absently on his knee. Aragorn would know about this same dilemma better than anyone, for Aragorn's own situation mirrored that of Legolas's.

Aragorn had fallen in love with Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond Halfelven, Evenstar of her people and fairest of the Elves. Arwen had chosen to give up her immortality and follow Aragorn to death. But Arwen was far, far away, and Legolas knew that she could have changed her mind and already taken the ship into the West. Her father, Lord Elrond, would have pleaded with her to reconsider her rash feelings, and perhaps Arwen would have more fully realized that to love Aragorn was to forsake her people and the grace of her life and allowed her father to persuade her in Aragorn's absence, then quietly sailed away without even saying goodbye. Legolas knew Aragorn was having these same thoughts; he knew those images of her sad and softly smiling face adorned with tears like tiny gems fading into the West haunted the mortal's dreams. Legolas had heard Aragorn awake in the middle of the night on many occasions, breathing her name longingly and anguished into the empty wind, his hand raised as if to draw her back to him before he returned to cold reality and dropped on his bedroll with a despondant sigh. He would spend the rest of the night sleepless, and Legolas, pretending to be lost in some fair Elvish dream, would watch him through half-cracked eyelids and consider the fates of Elves and Men, and the love of Arwen and Aragorn. Legolas would have agreed outright with Elrond if it had not been for the close friendship the prince from Mirkwood shared with Aragorn.

Elrond was right. Whatever crazy notion that had come into Aragorn's head that he could capture the heart of an Elven maiden seemed just that: Crazy. But it was a notion that did not pass with time or distance. Elrond was at a loss to sensibly explain his daughter's decision. In the past, Legolas too had wondered why an Elf would wish to give up the Undying Lands for Middle-earth. He had long pondered and was puzzled why any Elf would leave her people for a human. Now, at last, he understood, because he was ready to do the same for Miriel… after knowing her for only two days.

Legolas bowed his head and sadly picked a ball of white horsehair from the bristles of his brush. He stared at the bit of white fluff in his fingers for a moment, and then he wearily cast it away and watched the breeze roll it across the barn floor and carry it out the door into the blazing yellow sunshine, to freedom. Aragorn placed a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I can speak no word of comfort to you, Legolas, except to say that I share your pain. We must bear it together as best we can."

Legolas looked into Aragorn's sympathetic eyes.

"No thalion, a no gand, mellon nin," murmured Aragorn quietly as he arose and walked away. Legolas swallowed hard as he stared after his companion, but the Elf remained sitting, thoughtful and silent.

At last he stood up and turned once more to brushing Arod's mane. Legolas quietly sang a song to Elbereth as he worked, a song with words that cried out for hope in a dark hour.

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**And the plot thickens! There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

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**Princess of Ithilien: **Another wonderful name! Knowing you, you probably have ANOTHER ONE by now… :-D It's cool! A little "I don't know" the last chapter was? If you thought the first few chapters of the story were suspiciously Sueish, welcome to the threshold. This is the point of no return. From here on, this tale departs from Sueism drastically. And I think it was the most fun to write.

**Quenya Anarya: **Nashville indeed! Awful close to me. I look forward to the LOTR story.

**Kitts: **Enchanting! What a lovely word! Thank you very much for the review, Kitts. Let me know if the rest of this story lives up to its billing.

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**A/N: **_I've been very slow because I've been very busy! I won't be able to put up another chapter until after June, so set your email alerts and I'll see you then._

_Blessings!_

_Jazzcat_


	8. A RING AND A PROMISE

A RING AND A PROMISE

Miriel had stopped crying at last, but now she sat with her head in her hands, disconsolate and sullen, staring unseeing out the window. Her heart was torn in two. She could not believe the ease with which the respect and wondrous awe she felt for him had turned into love, but it was as if they had always been together, always loved one another… that they were meant for each other. She knew these things with utter certainty. She wanted so badly to run down and tell Legolas that she would never leave his side. Yet concern for Legolas's own good held her back. It was too great a sacrifice for him to remain with her and die.

But she did not ask. It was Legolas who wanted to stay with her. Miriel knew she should refuse him. They would have seventy or eighty blissful, happy years together, if they were lucky. But after she died, what comfort then would there be for the Elf? There would be no escape across the Sea to the Undying Lands, and he would be doomed to suffer pain and lonliness until he, too, laid himself down beneath the trees and slept forever.

Miriel sighed and shook her head. This could not be. She and Legolas were from two different fates. He would live forever in a land beyond legend; she was destined to die.

Besides, Legolas would be fine without her. Later on he would forget that the girl Miriel had ever existed and find some ageless, beautiful, poetic, graceful Elven maiden, of which there were many, who would fill his heart with joy. And she, Miriel, would dwell in the world of Men, and perhaps one day she too would move on and marry some dashing knight.

But even as she thought these things, her heart felt heavy with hopelessness. How was it that she could know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he was the only one for her? That anyone else could not begin to fill the void inside of her? There was only one explanation: She was out of her mind. Weariness and grief and impending disaster and staring death in the face must have gotten to her and caused her to suffer an emotional breakdown. The fact that she had drawn so quickly to a complete stranger was proof of that.

If only she could convince her heart of her insanity as easily as she persuaded her head.

She stood up and leaned out the window. The winds blew on her face and hair, and she felt as cold and sad as a winter night that comes without the light of a star, and as empty as a bottomless cavern that opened unexpectedly beneath one's feet somewhere in the twisting blind passages of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.

As Miriel looked down upon the lands below, she saw a company of riders leaving Helm's Deep and trotting over the causeway. It was King Theoden and Aragorn, and Gandalf on his great white horse. A number of soldiers also accompanied them.

Her heart caught in her throat as she beheld one rider wearing a quiver full of arrows on his back. Sunlight sparkled in his flowing golden hair. His gray cloak streamed behind him as his white horse pranced along the stone bridge, tossing its beautiful head in eagerness to run, as if the wind called its name.

Miriel swallowed hard and drew herself up, tall and fair. She turned away from the window. Her mind was made up at last.

Theoden King rode down the causeway on a white horse, leading a small company of riders on the road to Isengard. At his side were Gamling and Aragorn, and Gandalf on Shadowfax. Gimli sat behind the wizard, riding Shadowfax and clinging tightly to Gandalf. His eyes were wide and prominent on his ruddy Dwarvish face, yet whether it was out of fear or awe of the great beast no one could rightly tell. If asked, Gimli would have insisted on the latter.

Behind them rode Legolas. His head was bowed, and he looked very sad and forlorn even though he bravely tried to hide it. Aragorn glanced back at him from time to time, and deep concern for the Elf creased his brow.

The silent company passed over the causeway. The horses were in good spirits and indeed seemed glad to leave behind the hard stone and sink their hooves into the soft green grasses. The sun was high in the sky and headed swiftly westward as the King led the way into the hills.

As they topped the ridge, Legolas halted and looked back at the tower, but he saw no one at the dark window. He stood silently a moment. His horse, Arod, moved impatiently under him, but still Legolas held him, waiting; hoping in vain for some sign or at least a final glimpse of Miriel.

But there was nothing. Sadly Legolas closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Namarie, Miriel," he whispered softly into the breeze. Then he spun Arod and spurred him after the others. Heedless of its rider's heavy heart, the eager horse sprang away like a deer through the wild grasses.

Suddenly a shrill cry, high and desperate, burst forth from Helm's Deep.

"Wait!"

Legolas pulled up Arod abruptly, and the white horse reared upon the hills. Looking back, Legolas saw Miriel standing on the causeway, fair and desperate, clad all in white, with the dark cloak fluttering about her. Without a second thought Legolas sent his horse galloping back to Helm's Deep.

King Theoden moved forward impatiently as if to call the Elf back, for he wished to reach Isengard with all speed. But Aragorn stopped him.

Arod skidded to a halt at the edge of the causeway and Legolas leapt from his horse as Miriel came running. Elf and maiden flew toward each other and met in the middle of the bridge. Legolas caught Miriel in his arms.

"Miriel, Miriel," cried Legolas again and again, holding her tightly.

"Legolas," whispered Miriel breathlessly. "I was so worried I would be too late!"

She pulled back and looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes of the Elf. Legolas looked so happy it nearly burst her heart.

"I wanted to give you this," Miriel said. She quickly pulled from her own finger the jewelless curved silver ring and placed it in the hand of Legolas.

"This ring was my mother's," explained Miriel. "She gave it to me on the day she died, and now I give it to you. It is said that this ring is a work of Westernesse, and that the wearer would be protected from the dark shadows of Mordor. It is a legend, and whether it is true or not, I do not know. But I did survive the battle of Helm's Deep while I wore it, so perhaps it is not without some virtue.

"I no longer have any need of it, Legolas, but you will walk many dark paths ere the end. May whatever grace it carries pass to you and serve you well."

"Rather would I have this ring than all the jewels of fair Lothlorien," Legolas declared, slipping the star-shaped ring onto his finger.

Miriel sighed peacefully then, and said:

"I know not what doom awaits you, Legolas of the Elves, but I will be here in Rohan waiting for you, and I will look to the day of your coming with great joy. But even if the Shadow should prevail, and all the world is plunged into darkness, at least I will have gotten to see you again, one last time."

Miriel stopped as words failed her. Her chin trembled as she looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears. Legolas lifted Miriel's hand to his lips and tenderly kissed it. Miriel's constraints over her emotions slipped and gave way.

"Lin ind nin, Miriel," whispered the Elf as Miriel broke down and buried her face in Legolas's warm shoulder, sobbing. "My heart is yours, Sparkling Like Jewels."

"I love you," whispered Miriel as Legolas stroked her long dark hair. They stood silently until Miriel's sniffles quieted, and then died away altogether. Time stopped as they held one another. Wind whipped around them, snapping at their cloaks. Long golden grasses rustled and bent beneath the fresh breeze. From far away came the scream of a lonely eagle. The great mountains of stone stood tall and cold as they looked dispassionately down on the Elf and the princess, who seemed suddenly very small and forlorn in the huge world of Middle-earth.

At last Miriel pulled away. Legolas took her gently by the shoulders.

"We shall meet again on this earth," Legolas promised.

Their eyes met, and it seemed to Miriel that for a brief instant they could read one another's thoughts. She could not blink or look away, nor put into words what she felt from him, but what she saw comforted her greatly.

Miriel gazed steadily at Legolas. A new fire kindled in her misty eyes.

"Then ride," she urged, her voice rising. "Ride on and don't look back. Fight for the freedom of all the peoples of Middle-earth."

Suddenly Legolas sprang away and leapt onto the back of his waiting horse. Arod turned to run, but Legolas held him and stood a moment, reluctant to leave her.

"Go," whispered Miriel thickly, smiling bravely through her tears, and she touched a kiss to her trembling fingers and sent it after him.

"Namarie, Lady Miriel," cried Legolas, raising his hand in farewell, and with a great whinny Arod broke into a run and bore him away like the wind. True to his word, he did not look back. The company saw him coming and spurred their horses onward. Legolas galloped into their midst as they faded away into the far hills and vanished, leaving Miriel standing alone on the causeway of Helm's Deep.

Legolas was gone.

Miriel gave in to the tears and let them fall like rain. She sobbed silently as sharp pain pierced her deepest being. She closed her eyes. She clutched her hand to her paralyzed and hollow chest. The agony was so unbearable that Miriel sought to shut off her emotions, to feel nothing; and yet she could not stop crying. Her face twisted in agony. A great darkness descended over her. Her cloak blew about her and running tears shimmered on her cheeks before dropping unheeded into the stones beneath her.

"Don't cry, my sister. We shall see them again."

Miriel turned to find the Lady Eowyn at her side, dressed somberly in black and gold, also staring after the riders with the light of longing in her sad gray eyes. Miriel's lips parted in a single pain-filled gasp, and Eowyn's sadness for herself changed to pity for one whos feelings were akin to her own.

"We shall comfort each other until that day comes," Eowyn added.

Miriel looked at Eowyn and smiled gratefully as the sun sank deep into the western sky. The two princesses of Rohan were silent as they stood in the last rays of the dying sunlight, and then Eowyn took Miriel by the hand and led her back into the fortress.

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**The beginning of a new chapter in Miriel's life! What comes next will probably be a great shock to you all…**

**There are some cliffhanger chapters coming up, and if you don't want to wait for me to get around to posting it all, then go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

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**ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS:**

**Amber Chase: **This is an interesting new pen name for you! I like it, I'll just have to get used to it and remember who you are. I wonder if you've finished your new fic and posted it by now? Funny, I'm headed for Knoxville this weekend… Glad you liked the chapter. I don't think Legolas liked it very much…

**Princess of Ithilien: **I assure you, your review is NOT a flame. Thank you for taking the time to post it! I'm not 100 sure on Eowyn's eye color; I've always thought of her eyes as gray and wrote them that way without a second thought. It's usually very easy to tell when someone is downcast after losing family member(s), even if one is not hypersensitive. Miriel may be strong, yet she is still a maiden: She was not made for the rigors and horrors of war. About her being too sore for a curtsey: Yep, I missed that one. Chalk it up to Athelas and good Rohirric air, I suppose.

There were actually TWO movie lines from PJ's epic woven into this fanfic; you wrote the other one down yourself! I gave the other to Theoden. Theoden's speech praising Miriel's valor was more or less a polite thing to do; the fact that she was a maiden fighting with the men would have gotten her special recognition. The King and Miriel both know that it wasn't her sole contribution that led to the winning of Helm's Deep.

And don't be so sure about Miriel and Legolas; remember that in wartime, odd things can happen to people. Great hopelessness and impending death can do weird things to the psyche, and… I won't spoil the rest of the story, but I will warn you not to be so confident in your findings. Love at first sight can happen, but Miriel is smart enough to go with her head… most of the time.

Lastly, Aragorn was teasing Legolas about Elves being lousy liars. Yet you could argue that Aragorn might know Elves better than most, since he was raised in Rivendell by the Lord Elrond himself. Maybe Aragorn IS more attuned to the nuances of Elven behavior than we normally give him credit for! He was also a great friend of Legolas, and I would venture to say that those two probably hung out together long before the War of the Ring.

**Crazeel: **Thank you, and I shall do my best. Sorry this one took so long; you have Vanaloth to thank for this update being sooner than I planned it to be!

**Vanaloth: **Sorry to hear about the uploading trouble! I'll do my best to be more prompt with updates. Thanks for remembering to pester me, and I hope this chapter was a satisfactory one.

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**A/N: **_I'm sorry to say that it took Vanaloth's insistant prodding to break my lazy streak and get me to post. As I am fond of saying, I'm a Jazzcat and I have nine lives to live! I hope the next chapter will come sooner. Reviews help encourage me to do just that. Please take a moment and jot something down – and believe it or not, flames are welcome. Some people don't like Tolkien either, and if even Tolkien gets to be criticized, I'll be happy to join the club!_

_Blessings!_

_Jazzcat_


	9. ROLANDE

Rolande

In the days that followed, Miriel found herself so busy with the duties of her new office as princess that she hardly had the time to pine after Legolas, and she was glad of it. In the early morning of the second day after Miriel and Legolas parted, Miriel took leave of Lady Eowyn at Helm's Deep and led the people of Rohan back through the land to begin the work of rebuilding the ruined villages, one at a time.

The weather was perfect. The sapphire skies showed no hint of a storm on the horizon. Miriel herself headed the long column of refugees and rode on Kaspir, who was in much fresher spirits after a few days of rest. Miriel was still in pain, but she bore it bravely and tried to ignore it. A small company of soldiers rode with them at the Lady Eowyn's bidding to protect the civilians should the need arise.

The journey was uneventful, to Miriel's great relief, and the addition of the guards proved to be unnecessary. But they were a comfort to have nearby.

Before nightfall they had reached the nearest village and set up camp for the evening. The small town had hardly been touched, and Miriel guessed at the reason. As the Orcs drew nearer to Helm's Deep, their desire to wipe out the people of Rohan took precedence over ruining vacated property and gave speed to their foul iron-shod feet. The most damage had been done on the western end, where a few huts had been burned to the ground, so Miriel set the refugees on the eastern side, getting as many of the elderly and small children into the shelter of houses.

A search was conducted throughout the whole village for food and turned up plenty of supplies to last several weeks. Miriel supervised the cooking of the evening meal. It was a tremendous undertaking, but Miriel assigned a number of women to making each part of the supper in the different kitchens. While it was being prepared, Miriel roved among the people who would be staying outdoors and distributed bedrolls and blankets to those who had none.

People shouted her name and called for her help until her head was spinning with requests. Miriel raced about camp, trying to keep up with an endless flood of needs to be attended. One mother explained that her child was terribly afraid of the dark. Could they possibly sleep nearer to the fire? An old man shivered with cold. Was there one pair of woolen socks somewhere in the village that could be spared? A woman had stumbled and skinned her elbow. Could she get some help dressing and bandaging the wound? There was a cry from one of the kitchens. Was there no more salt? Would she stir this pot or that pot to keep the food from burning? One of the donkeys had a stone tightly wedged in its foot, and it limped pitifully and brayed in pain. Would Miriel assist in dislodging the rock? A soldier had lost his pack on the road somewhere between the village and Helm's Deep, and his only shirt was in tatters. Was there a clean tunic he could borrow? A little girl, recently orphaned after the invasion, tugged on Miriel's skirt and looked up at Miriel with large kitten-like green eyes and tearfully held up a yellow-haired rag doll with its head lolling to one side and a popped seam in its neck. Could the nice lady fix her dolly?

When dinner was served and eaten and everything was done and the refugees began dropping off to sleep at last, Miriel was exhausted. She opted to sleep under the twinkling stars and threw herself wearily upon her bedroll. Kaspir snorted nearby in the darkness, and Miriel could see the silhouette of one of the night watchmen staring intently into the night. She sighed and rolled over uncomfortably on the hard ground. Her last thought was of Legolas as she fell fast asleep.

That night Miriel had a strange dream. She was standing on the long, seemingly endless white shores of a great body of water which she felt must be the Sea, a sight she had never seen before but one that took her breath away. Legolas was beside her, and Gimli the Dwarf was waiting nearby. The sun was sinking behind the Sea like a blazing red fireball plunging into the bright waters. If it weren't for the sunset, Miriel would not have been able to distinguish the Sea from the skyline.

Without warning a dark shadow fell upon her. Miriel felt her hair stand on end with a cold dread. She whirled and beheld a large gray ship gliding silently into the harbor. Its great prow hardly caused a ripple as it cut its way through the shining smooth water. Its huge blackened sails blotted out the sun.

Suddenly Miriel felt herself being pulled towards it against her will. She looked down at her feet and found them dragging two deep lines through the sand. She gasped and clutched wildly at Legolas's arm as the ruts lengthened.

"Help me!" she shrieked. Legolas looked down at her and his eyes widened as he saw what was happening.

"Miriel!" Legolas shouted and instantly clasped her wrist. Miriel was drawn off the ground and swept into the air as she was drawn powerfully toward the dark ship. Her hair was pulled back in the wind until it was nearly being torn from her head. She swayed weightlessly and fought to cling to Legolas, feeling like she was being ripped apart between the ship and the Elf.

"Don't let me go!" screamed Miriel in wide-eyed terror.

"Give me your other hand!" yelled Legolas above the roar of the wind.

Miriel struggled, but the ship was too powerful. "I can't!" she shouted back.

Legolas set his feet firmly and strained backward with all his might. His fair face twisted and grimaced with effort. His hold tightened painfully on Miriel's hand, which he gripped with both of his own.

"Miriel! Hold on!" he cried, but even as he spoke Miriel's hand was ripped from his grasp and she flew screaming through the air toward the menacing ship. She looked backward as she rushed over the still waters and saw that she was soaring straight into a giant black sail. But the sail was not made of any material; it was an empty black abyss that yawned open over the Sea like a great hole of nothingness. Deadly bolts of lightning flashed across the opening of the void. She turned back to the shore.

"Legolas!" she wailed. Legolas looked ready to plunge into the sea and swim after her, but he was powerless to save her; he and Miriel both knew it.

Suddenly there was a blaze of red fire over the black hole, and Miriel felt a cold menace creep up behind her. She turned and saw a giant and terrifying lidless Eye where the crow's nest of the ship would have been. It was made all of fire, and the heat eminating from it burned against her cheeks and singed her hair. The pupil was a narrow slit, like a cat's, and it was staring straight at her with a hungry, evil look that made Miriel's blood run cold. Immediately she knew it was Sauron.

"I see you," a voice from the flaming Eye hissed. "The Elf is gone. He is doomed. He will never return. You will die."

"No!" Miriel screamed.

But the Eye gave a hideous laugh as Miriel fought for her life. She struggled desperately against the pull of the dark ship, but she had nothing to hold on to and was powerless to resist. Legolas stood helplessly on the shore, shouting her name, but growing smaller and smaller as Miriel drifted away. Just before Miriel was swallowed by the sail she woke up in a dreadful panic.

She shot bolt upright out of her bedroll.

"Legolas!" Miriel shrieked into the empty night, gasping for breath.

Several guards came running at her cry. Miriel was in a cold sweat. She glanced wide-eyed at the glittering stars overhead and at the sleeping forms of the soldiers scattered randomly around the dying orange embers of the campfire, some of whom were now sitting up and staring at her, rudely awakened by her screams.

Slowly Miriel got her bearings and returned to reality. She calmed herself with an effort as the guards arrived, and Miriel managed to explain in an even tone to the concerned soldiers that it was just a nightmare, and that she was fine. She smiled grimly, thanked them for coming and bid them to leave her to continue their watch.

But Miriel was not fine. She was trembling all over as she lay back on her bedroll. Sleep would not come to her again that night. Instead she found herself praying for Legolas and softly singing her song, the one that came to her on that dark night in Helm's Deep, to the great Elven queen, Elbereth. She found that the strange words calmed and comforted her. Someday she would ask Legolas to translate it for her, if she ever saw him again.

In the morning, the shadows of fear were swept away by the overwhelming tide of duties and responsibilities that inevitably presented themselves. Breakfast was as much of a coordinating chore as supper had been the night before. Miriel rushed back and forth, tending a woman who had fallen sick during the night, feeding and watering the horses, answering shouts and hasty requests, and soothing crying infants. Miriel also searched through houses for any good clothing she could find and looked for fresh cloth to replace old garments that had been reduced to rags. Within a short time Miriel was quite worn out, her elbow was fiercely bothering her and the lack of sleep was beginning to tell on her strength and her nerves.

By afternoon the princess of Rohan was feeling downright cranky.

At that moment a knight dressed in shining silver armor and the green cloak of Rohan approached her.

"My lady," he murmured respectfully with a bow. Miriel whirled upon him, her purple-rimmed eyes flashing.

"Yes?" snapped Miriel, glancing at him rather sharply. She half expected another unwanted duty to be laid upon her.

The knight seemed taken aback. He had arrived at a bad time and he knew it at once.

"I can come again later, if it would suit you better," he stammered courteously.

Miriel immediately felt horrible and dropped the bundle of rough brown cloth she had been holding. She went to the knight and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"No, please don't go. I apologize. It's been a trying morning." Miriel endeavored to smile and drew herself up. "What is your request, good sir? I will do what I can to grant it."

The knight returned her smile.

"I have no request, my lady," he answered, and Miriel became more attentive at once. "My name is Rolande from Edoras. I was sent here to be both a messenger and a personal advisor to you by the Lady Eowyn. I am also to serve as your bodyguard and loyal servant."

Miriel raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Why, thank you!" she replied pleasantly. "That is most kind."

The knight bowed again, and Miriel glanced over him. Rolande was dark of hair and fair of face, with defined, deliberate features and keen, piercing brown eyes that somehow reminded Miriel of a great cat. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way. He seemed as sure of himself as the Lord Aragorn, and Miriel didn't doubt for an instant that he possessed the honor and leadership skills to match.

"I can begin advising you on matters immediately," Rolande offered.

Miriel nodded wearily, but she resisted the impulse to hang her head. "Please do. I'm new at this," she admitted.

Rolande bowed and led her to the horses. His own horse was already saddled, so Rolande readied Kaspir for Miriel and talked while he worked.

"First, you'll want to delegate more duties to others so that you don't overburden yourself. There is plenty for you to do without giving so much attention to matters that others could easily handle."

"What do you mean?" snapped Miriel, feeling indignant with Rolande for suggesting that someone else could do a better job than she herself would.

"For instance," Rolande continued boldly, ducking his head respectfully, "You could get one of the women to oversee the preparation and distribution of the meals. Some of the young girls could be put in charge of the small children and infants. Even the elderly can sew new garments to replace the clothes which were worn out from the journey."

"I would rather do it myself," answered Miriel rather stubbornly. "I want to make sure everything is done right."

"If you do everything yourself, you will wear yourself out," insisted Rolande. "Besides, you won't be here to babysit them for long. Don't hesitate to let the villagers handle some things for themselves. They are excellent and resourceful people. They just might surprise you."

Doubt shone in Miriel's eyes. Rolande saw this and left Kaspir's side. He stood before Miriel and stared hard at her.

"You seem to forget that these people got along just fine without you once," he remarked.

This earned him from a reproachful look from the princess.

Rolande sighed. "Trust me on this, my lady," he pleaded. "Your people are readier to work than you know, and eager to please you. They will do whatever you tell them, and they will be the happier for it. The busier they are, the less they will reflect on the war at hand, and Mordor will seem farther away, as it should. They need to get on with their lives and this is an excellent first step."

Miriel gave in to Rolande's gentle manner and nodded reluctantly.

"I will try it," she promised.

Rolande smiled and bowed as he handed her the reins to her horse.

"Good. Climb up and issue those new orders, and then we'll ride through this village to assess the damage."

Miriel felt more confident with an advisor straight from the court of Edoras at her side, and she did everything Rolande suggested. She felt a new sense of purpose and confidence, and the townsfolk picked up on it at once.

Miriel put two women in charge of meals and assigned two others to take care of the sick and wounded. She found a group of elderly women who were skilled with needlework and set them making new clothes and blankets. A small company of teenage boys were responsible for fetching wood and tending the fires, and Miriel told the men to begin repairing and rebuilding the huts that were damaged or destroyed. A few idle gentlemen were soon sharpening tools and weapons and even making new tables and chairs.

In a surprisingly short time the whole village was working in a happy bustle. Miriel glowed with pleasure, and she felt her weariness falling away as she surveyed the results from Kaspir's back. She looked back at Rolande with a broad grin.

"You were right!" she exclaimed joyfully over the ring of hammers.

"You're a natural leader," declared Rolande, staring at Miriel with obvious admiration as he watched her delegate.

Miriel gave him a sidelong glance.

"I don't know about that," she admitted. "I sure didn't know what I was doing."

"No one does at first," returned Rolande with a little bow. "But you were already doing better than most before I got here. With a little more guidance, you'll have things running as smoothly as they do at Edoras."

"One thing, Rolande," said Miriel. "Please stop bowing to me. I'm not used to it, and it makes me feel uncomfortable and sort of self-conscious. I would rather you treat me more like an equal than royalty, alright?"

"What? Are you serious?" exclaimed Rolande, gazing at her in astonishment.

Miriel nodded.

"Er, yes of course!" replied Rolande, hastily recovering his surprise. "As you wish, my lady."

Soon Miriel and Rolande were free of their immediate responsibilities to the people and in no time they were riding on the ruined side of the village. They made plans for new houses were the old ones were burned to the ground and discussed repairs for the huts that were only minorly damaged. The construction proceeded rapidly under the eager and restless hands of the village menfolk, and by nightfall several families were able to move back into their own homes.

Miriel sat by the fire, calmly eating her supper across from Rolande. It had been a long day, and she was tired, but she felt keen satisfaction at all they had accomplished in just one day. At that rate, Rohan would be restored to its former glory in a very short amount of time.

"I'm sure glad to have Rolande here with me," thought Miriel to herself as she settled in for the night. "I couldn't get through this without him." Then her thoughts turned to Legolas, and she fell into a long deep sleep untroubled by nightmares.

The week flew by, and the village was nearly completed by the end of it. As the little town became self-dependant, Miriel moved the rest of the refugees to the next village, and then the next, until most of the people were settled into their own homes. Each town needed more work to make it livable than the last as they drew nearer to Isengard; each village carried more of the remarkably evil odor she began to associate with the Uruk-hai and hate with a vengeance. The Orcs had ruined with greater vigor in the beginning of their dreadful march until they neared Helm's Deep, and their insatiable thirst for blood surpassed their desire for vandalism.

Rolande never left her side and his service proved to be invaluable. Miriel could always count on his advice, and his constant presence made her feel safe. He was a steady rock in a sea of uncertainty and Miriel knew she could trust him.

Something Rolande insisted upon was that once in a while Miriel was to take a break from her responsibilities. He watched Miriel closely and saw to it that she did not overburden herself, which she would surely have done had he not been there to guide her. Rolande would pull her away and they would take their horses for a gallop across the wild golden hills until they were breathless and laughing.

They chattered easily as they rode together, and soon Miriel counted him as her closest friend. Rolande could make her laugh, and the melancholy shroud would be lifted from her shoulders as she momentarily forgot about Sauron and the looming darkness that threatened Middle-earth with destruction.

"How are the repairs going on the east side?" asked Miriel lightly during one of their rides, when the horses had their run and were slowly meandering through the sun-sweet grasses.

"Great," returned Rolande, looking into the brilliant blue skies that showed no sign of a cloud. "There was this one home that we thought we'd have to tear down because it was so badly burned in the front, but we discovered that the back wall was still intact and the foundation was barely touched. I think the rain arrived just in time to save it. So we're in the process of rebuilding it and should be finished very soon. A large family lives there, and they were thrilled with the news."

"I'm sure they were!" declared Miriel with a sigh. "That's wonderful. You know, the way these workers wield their hammers, we should be able to move on to the next village in short order."

Suddenly Rolande laughed; a warm, musical sound that gladdened Miriel's heart to hear. She looked back at him and quirked a quizzical eyebrow.

"Speaking of hammers!" Rolande exclaimed, getting the better of his mirth with an effort.

"What is it?" Miriel inquired.

"Did you hear what happened this afternoon?" asked Rolande.

Miriel smiled expectantly. "No, what?"

"Early in the day a shout went up from one of the builders, and I rushed over to see what was going on. The man had set his hammer down for only a moment and it had vanished without a trace. In its place was a single shoe. As we stood there puzzling over the mystery, another cry came from not far off, and I ran down to discover a person missing a shoe, which had been replaced by a feathered hat. Not long after, someone found that they had lost their hat to a metal bucket."

"There was definitely some mischief afoot!" Miriel interjected, her eyes dancing.

"Indeed," said Rolande. "That was my conclusion also. After the first few incidents, reports started coming in all over the place. Blankets were being changed to cloaks, large water jars turned into small cups, and swords magically transformed into kitchen knives at an alarming rate."

Miriel's eyes widened as Rolande continued.

"We returned the lost items to their rightful owners as fast as we could, and almost everyone was pacified except for the superstitious folk, who believed some spirits were playing tricks on them. I didn't consider that possibility for the slightest moment. But the odd switchings continued, and spirits or no, I was determined to get to the bottom of it. I stood lookout upon a hilltop and watched for a long time before at last I spied a teenage boy sneak up on one of the workers and take a coil of rope, leaving a little ball of string in its place."

Miriel laughed aloud. "Leave it to the boys," she chuckled. "They get all the good ideas!"

"I knew he was only one of the culprits, though," said Rolande. "There were too many missing objects in such a short space of time to be accomplished by only one or two boys. This may have been nothing more than a game to them, but they were delaying progress on the village, and causing some people to feel rather insecure and even frightened, so I decided to find out who they were and round them up."

"You were right to do so," agreed Miriel, but her gray eyes were sparkling. "Thank heaven for a little harmless fun! Everybody needs rascals like these to play a few practical jokes on them once in a while. It takes the dull seriousness out of life to have them about! Tell me, Rolande, what happened next?"

"I gathered a couple of men and after a while we had apprehended all of the troublemakers," answered Rolande. "The leader of this group was a boy named Robin, and he called the boys under his command his "Merry Men". It was a very brilliant and elaborately laid plot, really."

"Did you punish them?" asked Miriel in eager excitement.

"Well, yes and no. It was obvious that these young men had too little to do, and they had good heads on their shoulders, so I set them to work for a far worthier cause. Besides helping with the actual building process, they are running errands for the workers, gathering materials and doing all manner of odd jobs. Some of the boys are natural leaders, and I put them in charge of greater things. Robin in particular is making an excellent overseer."

"A fine way to solve the dilemma!" declared Miriel, laughing. "Those boys will be so proud to have that kind of grown-up responsibility that they'll be even better at it than some of the men."

"And there'll be a lot less hammers replaced by shoes," added Rolande.

Miriel laughed gaily. A gust of wind blew loose strands of dark hair into her face, and she brushed back the thick mass with her hand, seeming in manner and demeanor more like a girl than a princess. It gladdened Rolande's heart to see her thus.

"What's to keep them from continuing their mischief?" asked Miriel merrily. "If I were them, I wouldn't let a little work stand in my way. Someone may need to keep an eye on them."

"I would do it myself," said Rolande, "But it would be a full-time job to watch those boys, and I'm supposed to be protecting you. I'm spending too much time away from your side as it is."

"Nonsense," declared Miriel with a good-natured frown. "I can handle myself. I'm quite capable of wielding a sword as well as yourself. You must not have heard any of the tales from Helm's Deep," she added teasingly.

Rolande grinned. "No, I heard. But that doesn't change my mind."

"All right, suit yourself," answered Miriel with a smile. Then she sobered and sighed as they topped a sunlit ridge overlooking Rohan. They could see the village from there. Rolande glanced at Miriel and was startled at the change that came over her.

As Miriel gazed upon the village, she straightened in the saddle. It seemed as if the carefree girl who had ridden by Rolande's side only a moment ago had slipped behind a dignified mask. With every sign of reluctance, Miriel turned Kaspir.

"We'd better be heading back," she declared sternly as Kaspir cantered off.

Rolande contemplated the princess as she galloped ahead of him and he trailed after. She was the sort of girl who liked to take care of everyone and everything herself, and Rolande suspected her brothers had been well off. She hated it if she could not help others. It was good, then, that he was here; she would have otherwise worn herself to a frazzle within the first week. But Rolande smiled indulgently. Those were the right sort of faults that made a good princess.

When they rode into the village, Rolande saw the heavy cloak of responsibility settle upon Miriel's shoulders once more. Miriel bore her leadership with quiet courage, amazing inner strength, and the acceptance of a queen, and Rolande could not help marveling at her. But Rolande knew it was a great burden nonetheless.

For Miriel, Rolande was a soothing balm to her aching heart. She threw herself into her work to cover over the pain of losing her family, but Rolande always pulled her back before she could do herself an injury in her overenthusiasm. She missed her family and the companionship of her brothers, but Rolande's presence made her feel less alone. He was becoming to her much more than a friend, and she spoke openly with him about everything… except Legolas. That was something she could share with no one and had to bear alone, to cry into her pillow at night and wonder if this blessed and cursed love caused her more agony than joy.

Sometimes when Miriel was speaking with a person, perhaps issuing an order or caught up in a deep discussion with someone about how to proceed with repairs, she would abruptly catch a glimpse of those strangely intense brown cat's eyes upon her. A little chill raced down her spine when she saw the look Rolande gave her.

But Miriel did not give much thought to Rolande, for prevalent on her mind was the fate of Legolas and all those who traveled with him. She glanced often to the East, and wondered how events transpired near Mordor. Had they reached the Black Land yet? Were they in the midst of planning a battle? Or were they fighting one even now? What if the War had already ended, and she didn't even know it?

The one question that she never voiced even in the silence of her own head but one that continually haunted her thoughts was whether or not Legolas still lived. She couldn't help imagining all sorts of horrible wounds and deaths, and she had to force away the evil flood of worse-case scenarios with an effort. She was terribly concerned for the rest of the company, of course, especially her knew adopted father, King Theoden. But all of her greatest worries were reserved for the Elf.

As Miriel silently stared toward the East one night, with the soft orange glow of the fire reflecting off the back of her white dress and throwing shining red sparkles into her billowing dark hair, Rolande came and stood beside her. The crickets were singing softly and millions of stars shimmered down on them. Rolande covered Miriel's shoulders with his green riding cloak, and his gentle hand lingered on her arm.

"Thank you, Rolande," Miriel murmured, shivering and clutching the cloak around her. She had not even been aware that she was cold until that moment.

"What is troubling you tonight, my lady?" Rolande asked quietly.

Miriel bowed her head.

"I'm concerned about the War," she replied, hoping her voice didn't shake. "I have heard no news, for good or ill, in ten days. But even that short time seems like an eternity, for all those whom I love dearest in this world are marching into a doomed battle."

She turned and regarded Rolande, who was staring at her with pity. Rolande saw Miriel's gray eyes sparkling silver and perceived that she was dangerously near to tears, and that grieved him deeply.

"I lost my family, Rolande," Miriel continued, and Rolande nodded, for he had heard the story from Eowyn. "My father, my mother, my brothers- they are all gone. I feel in my heart that I am still to know greater sorrow ere the end. If I were to lose everyone else, darkness would take me and I would die. I cannot bear to be alone."

Miriel choked and stopped, unable to speak. Her chin trembled visibly. Rolande's brow furrowed with a multitude of deep lines of concern as he watched the terrible emotions, barely perceptible, that she so jealously guarded and tried to keep carefully hidden, warring beneath her iron facial expression softened by grief and fear for those in harm's way.

"Not everyone who holds you dear is going to war, my lady," Rolande declared with feeling, moving closer to her. "You should not worry so much about events that take place beyond your control. It can't help your friends, and it will serve no purpose but to destroy you."

"I know," said Miriel. "But still..." She let her sentence trail off into the wind.

"It's a war, my lady, and news will not be forthcoming," returned Rolande practically. "But even if you knew what took place in the East, it would do no good for them or for you. You are helpless and far away. You can do nothing for them."

Something broke inside Miriel at his words. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"I cannot help them," she repeated slowly. "I can do nothing."

Suddenly she covered her face with her hands, and Rolande's eyes widened in horror as he realized he had just made a terrible mistake. Only that very afternoon, he had determined that the one thing she hated most was not being able to help someone in their time of great need.

"Oh! Oh!" he groaned. "Forgive me, my lady, I didn't mean..." Rolande faltered, but the words stuck in his throat and failed him.

Miriel did not answer. Her fingers were pressed to her forehead so hard that it turned her fingertips ashen white. Rolande saw her not as a great leader or a powerful princess of Rohan, but as a small, frightened child, and he was pierced with the knowledge that he had shattered her. In trying to comfort her, he had driven the stake right through her heart. He desperately groped for the right thing to say, but nothing came to him. He had to do something to make things right.

Impulsively Rolande gathered Miriel in his arms and held her gently. Miriel did not move, and it seemed to Rolande that she remained hard and unyielding, her body rigid and unrelenting to his embrace. They stood silently for some time, and Rolande couldn't tell if she was crying or not, or if she was angry with him, or if she was trying with all her might to be brave. Her head remained firmly buried in her palms.

At last Rolande plucked up the courage to speak.

"I will send a messenger first thing in the morning to gather what tidings he can if it will ease your mind, my lady," he said hurriedly, as if the very words evaporated the air in his chest.

Slowly Miriel's hands dropped from her pale face. A single tear escaped from her closed eyelids and slid silently down her white cheek. Rolande could not see her expression, but he could feel her nodding against his shoulder.

"First thing in the morning, my lady," Rolande repeated. Miriel pulled away and drew herself up. Her head was bowed, but Rolande saw that she was once again firmly in control of herself. She did not meet his eyes. Rolande feared that he had been too bold, for he remembered, too late, that it was not the place of a common soldier to get so near to a princess, however much he wanted to comfort her.

"Thank you, Rolande," Miriel whispered, but there was a quaver in her voice.

"You should sleep now, my lady," suggested Rolande quietly, and Miriel nodded. Without a word she swept the cloak from her shoulders and handed it back to him, and then she moved past him and disappeared into one of the houses.

Rolande remained where he was, crushing the still-warm cloak in his hands in bitter agony of the heart. He felt as cruel as an Orc. He chastised himself for his clumsy words and rash actions and wondered how Miriel would behave toward him come morning.

••••••••

**If you are in a blazing hurry to find out what happens next, go to www(dot)talesofmiddleearth(dot)com and download the complete full-length free ebook: Miriel: Princess of Rohan.**

••••••••

**ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS:**

**Elven Bunny and Butterfly Lion: **First, great name. Second, thanks for the stamp of approval, LOL! It is indeed tough because I have such a short timeframe to work with, since Legolas was scheduled to head for the Paths of the Dead in just two days' time. So their biological clocks were ticking, thanks to Tolkien's tight timeline. At least it was plausible to seek such comfort from another during the stress of wartime. That is the one saving grace I have, and I took full advantage of it.

I know too that it's cliché to have the sister beat the brothers, but… I have three brothers. The four of us are very competitive and I did win a lot. I still do, on occasion, though the growing spurts of teenage years have favored them more than me.

**Amber Chase: **I hope you survived the road trip okay, LOL! If you do, let me know what you thought of _this_ chapter.

**Princess of Ithilien: **Ah, my toughest reviewer has returned. Here are some point-by-points for you:

Miriel is now a princess of Rohan, and her new position would entitle her to marry according to rank. Yes, she's most definitely insane, LOL! To stop in the middle of a battle and inquire the name of the fabulously handsome Elf who almost shot her… that's insane. I'm still not clear on Eowyn's eyes, but you could be right about them being blue. At some point, I'll have to do some research and put speculation to rest for good.

Miriel would indeed have earned scorn for her actions; perhaps in that respect the King saved her a bit of trouble. While there may have been plenty of whispering behind her back, no common peasant is going to risk royal disapproval by telling the princess to her face that she had no business wielding a sword alongside the men – especially not when the King adopted her afterwards instead of giving her the scolding she so richly deserved.

I am uncertain, but I believe Aragorn and Legolas knew each other before the meeting at the Council of Elrond. More fodder for cross-referencing later.

Redwall rocks. I've read three of the books so far and have managed to get my greedy hands on a whole library of them. I'll make short work of it… :-)

**Aranel Abeile: **Miriel is indeed a common LOTR OC character name because – you're right – there aren't many to choose from. And the fact that Miriel means Sparkling Like Jewels and shows up in an important poem to Elbereth in the LOTR book doesn't hurt its popularity either!

**Vanaloth: **Last, but certainly not least. It's because of you that this chapter is being posted at this time. Thank you for putting a fire under me! I've been slammed in real life, and I'm getting a book published next week, so please forgive my tardiness! If your computer won't let you download Miriel from the website, drop me an email and I'll be glad to send you the whole thing and save you the trouble.


	10. TROUBLED HEARTS

TROUBLED HEARTS

Miriel emerged at dawn. If she had been crying or had lost any sleep, nobody could tell, not even Rolande. She was regal and straight, and utterly cold. She was polite to everyone, and especially so to him. The only visible difference was in her face. Her eyes were dark and expressionless and she did not smile.

Rolande thought she was painfully kind, and he felt it would have been far better if she had yelled at him outright instead. He wished he knew her mind, but Miriel kept her thoughts carefully hidden and reined herself in check behind her walls of stone… walls that imprisoned her. Rolande was certain that his love would free her from her self-made cage, if she would only listen to reason and accept his love.

As he had promised, Rolande sent a messenger straight to Gondor. Miriel watched as the horseman galloped away and disappeared on the distant horizon. When she turned, her face was like a frozen mask, completely devoid of emotion.

Miriel mechanically went about her duties and said very little. She was quiet and withdrawn. When she was asked a question, she gave short answers in a toneless voice. Rolande shuffled along miserably behind her, resembling a pitifully sad dog that had gotten into trouble and desperately needed reassurance from a master who could offer none.

The villagers could not help but be adversely affected by the tension, and they took to tiptoeing nervously around Miriel and bothering her as little as possible. They perceived that their new princess, whom they had grown to love and trust in so short a time, had a great and terrible burden weighing her down. Slowly the laughter died off and their productivity slipped. The hearty ring of hammers dulled to a weary pounding, and gloomy faces replaced the cheery shouts. The sun shone brightly in the deep sapphire skies, but it might as well have been buried beneath a thick layer of black rainclouds.

For three days things continued in this sad state, and it seemed nothing could mend it. Rolande had tried to talk to Miriel on several occasions and had been lightly but firmly brushed aside. Miriel was distant, and Rolande was disconsolate.

Miriel was upset about more than the war. She was worried about Rolande. They had become close friends. Miriel trusted him and did not hesitate to confide in him. But she was concerned that for Rolande the simple friendship had turned to love. His meaningful glances had given her pause, and now at last his heart was revealed to her.

It seemed like an easy answer. Here was Miriel's devoted knight. If Miriel stayed behind with Rolande, Legolas could sail into the West. Then she would be happy, and Legolas would not have to leave his people.

But even as she thought this, Miriel knew it was not so simple. The sensible solution was not always the right one. Legolas loved her, and Miriel had given her heart to him; Legolas was the only one who could free her from those walls of stone surrounding her heart. Miriel did not love Rolande in the same way she loved Legolas. Rolande was a good person, and she cared very much for him, but Rolande did not feel like someone she would spend the rest of her life with.

Miriel knew that if she told Rolande any of this, it would hurt Rolande deeply, and she didn't want that to happen. How could she tell him that he, good and kind and tender as he was, much as she herself longed for him to be the right one; could not fill the void in her aching heart?

And yet how could she avoid it? Rolande had to know the truth at some point.

It came to a head on the evening of the third day. Rolande ambushed her as she sat near the fire after supper, and Miriel herself could stand the tension no longer. They turned to each other at nearly the same moment and spoke both at once.

"Miriel, I..."

"Rolande, would you..."

They stopped, uncertain and awkward. Then without a word Miriel stood up and they walked away from the fire, out of earshot of the staring villagers.

Under the dark moonless sky, brushed by a silvery breeze, Miriel and Rolande went out over the wild grasses and stopped upon a gentle rise. There they faced each other.

"I'm sorry, Miriel," began Rolande in a rush. "I should have been more sensitive. I shouldn't have mentioned-"

"No, it's not your fault," interrupted Miriel quietly, noticing with certain uneasiness that he was not addressing her as "my lady". "It was a little close to home, that's all. I wasn't prepared for it. I bear you no ill feelings in the matter."

"Thank you," murmured Rolande, but he was frowning. He wanted to say more, but he had never felt more nervous in his life; Miriel was strong and decisive and there was something about her that was… untamable. Her coolness of manner towards him didn't help either. But he had to say what was on his mind. He had to convince her of his feelings for her. Once he accomplished that, it might be easier to persuade her that she had feelings of her own.

"Miriel, there is something I must tell you."

As Rolande fixed Miriel with his intense cat's eyes, Miriel caught her breath and bit her lip. She looked away and her chin was trembling. This was the moment she had been dreading.

"You are the most wonderful person I have ever met," declared Rolande ardently, and Miriel's heart sank as he continued. "Happy chance brought me here to you. Miriel, I don't ever want to leave your side."

Miriel moved impatiently. "Rolande..."

"Please, Miriel, let me finish before you speak. From the moment I first saw you I felt nothing but great love for you. I have never cared for anyone so deeply, or suffered such bitter agony in the parting of another's company. These last three days have been dark as death, and the sun ceased to shine upon my face. If it had lasted much longer, I believe I would have died."

Miriel didn't even stop to consider that his last statement might have been somewhat far-fetched; the emotion with which he spoke the words was enough. Rolande took Miriel's hand gently but firmly, and Miriel looked up to find in his eyes an expression she had never seen before. Longing and desperation mingled into an unbearable anguish that Miriel could not stand to see, and yet it was utterly compelling. She found she could not avert her glance. Miriel did not move, but she was trembling.

Rolande gazed at her, his voice was warm and gentle. "Lady Miriel, I love you."

It was inevitable, but it was still a shock. For a moment Miriel remained where she stood, and her face was like a frozen mask with too-large gray eyes. Then suddenly she gave a sharp intake of breath, and two streams of tears suddenly released from her immeasurably deep reservoir ran down her pale face.

Rolande misread her reaction and a light of hope glimmered in his brown eyes, and he gave a little smile as he drew her close by means of her hand, which he kept in his own.

"Don't cry, Lady Miriel," he breathed. "It hurts me to see you cry. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Will you marry me?"

Miriel could not breathe. She felt as if she had been thrown from the wall of Helm's Deep again and dashed upon the hard stones. Although she had known this moment would come, and had tried to prepare for it, the intensity and eloquence of Rolande's words moved her. She struggled to remain on her feet, for her knees were too weak to hold her up. Rolande looked upon her with some concern, and hope kindled in his eyes, but Miriel knew he didn't understand how she was truly feeling. She had to make him understand.

"No, Rolande," Miriel gasped out finally.

That was the first warning Rolande had that something was terribly wrong.

"My lady?" cried Rolande, his voice almost shrill.

"You cannot love me," Miriel faltered.

Rolande swallowed hard, and tears sprang to his own eyes.

"What do you mean?" Rolande choked.

Miriel did not answer. She could not speak.

"My lady?" pressed Rolande.

Miriel fought to regain control over her emotions. She turned to Rolande and looked upon him with pity glistening in her eyes alongside the shining tears.

"I love another," she replied at last.

Rolande was shocked. He stumbled backward as if she had just plunged a knife into his heart, and he fell to his knees.

"You never said anything!" cried Rolande, almost pleadingly, as if he wanted nothing more than to tell her to change her mind, to reconsider. "I didn't know..."

Miriel's throat clenched in pain for this gentle man whom she counted as her dearest friend in Rohan. The knowledge that she was responsible for his bleeding pressed in on her and made her feel even worse. Now that the truth was revealed and the wound had been inflicted, Miriel's words began to flow rapidly. She wanted to get it over with.

"Listen to me, Rolande! I care very much for you and I don't want to see you get hurt. But I don't love you the way you love me, and in time you will get over it as well. You will not die, Rolande, but right now I'm worried about losing your friendship above all else." Miriel broke off, hardly daring to breathe, and she watched him for some reaction while she caught her lip between her teeth and hoped beyond hope that he might snap out of it.

Rolande did not answer. He was staring at the ground, stricken and pale. Miriel was crushed. They were silent for a while, and Miriel groped in her mind for comforting words. Suddenly Miriel had an idea which she desperately hoped would help Rolande, and she bent over him and placed both hands upon his shoulders.

"Rolande, it would please me very much if you would grant me one favor."

Rolande looked up, and a little interest kindled amid the anguish in his brown eyes.

"Anything, my lady," he replied.

Miriel sighed and gazed toward the western horizon. Her fair features were troubled and sad. That part, at least, she did not have to feign.

"I lost my brothers, Rolande, and I miss them more than anyone will ever know. Nothing will ever replace Alastar and Elidor. But I value you almost as if you were one of them. I'm asking you now to become more than my friend, bodyguard and advisor. Rolande, will you also be to me as my brother?"

Rolande looked at her, and his face was so hollow that Miriel could not tell what he was thinking. Miriel clutched at his shoulders.

"Please?" she pleaded. "I- I need you, Rolande."

Rolande's gaze remained blank, and Miriel was beginning to wonder if he could understand her. At last Rolande dumbly nodded his consent.

"Good, good," said Miriel. "Thank you."

Rolande nodded again, and Miriel gave his shoulder a final squeeze before she turned and walked swiftly back to the village, leaving Rolande where he knelt. Rolande stared after her retreating figure as she vanished into one of the houses.

"Farewell, Lady Miriel," he whispered into the night. He bowed his head in sorrow.


	11. THE PELENNOR FIELDS

THE PELENNOR FIELDS

On the morning of the third day after she and Rolande had spoken together, Miriel was walking along the main path through the village when she heard a shout. Miriel looked up to see Rolande running toward her, his short brown hair bouncing on his head with each jaunty step, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Rolande had been making steady progress since that night. He seemed to be slowly getting over his heartbreak. He was more sullen and withdrawn, and Miriel had expected nothing less; but he had an excellent sense of duty and it served him well. He played the part of big brother gallantly, and Miriel appreciated it to no end and did all she could to make him more comfortable in her presence. Now Rolande was dashing down the path toward her, and Miriel greeted him warmly with a smile.

"Miriel, Lady Miriel!" Rolande cried in breathless excitement. "The messenger has returned!"

Miriel gasped. Without a moment's hesitation she gathered her skirts and rushed past Rolande, leaving him to catch up in his own time. She arrived at the edge of the village as the messenger galloped up on a swift white horse.

"I bring news from the battle!" announced the messenger.

"Come quickly!" ordered Miriel, and seizing the horse's bridle she escorted them to the stable. When Rolande arrived, he took the tired horse from Miriel to care for it himself. Miriel and the messenger hastened to the house, where Miriel could gather all the news in private.

After Rolande had settled the white horse, he waited for Miriel to come out. He issued some orders, he directed a few workers, and he paced in agitation. The sun rose high in the sky, but still there was no sign of movement from the house.

Rolande was getting impatient. He wanted to know about the happenings in the East as much as Miriel did. At last he could wait no longer, and he left the circle he had worn in the dust with his countless footsteps and walked determinedly toward the house.

Just then the door was thrown open, and Miriel burst into the sunlight with the messenger right behind her. Rolande ran up to her.

"What news, my lady?" he asked.

Miriel looked up, and Rolande gasped. Her face was a shock. Miriel's beautiful gray eyes were overlarge and staring, and her pale face was tightly drawn.

"What is it?" Rolande cried in horror.

"The King," whispered Miriel. Then her lips moved, but no sound came out.

"What happened to Theoden King?" exclaimed a frantic Rolande, who had long been a guard in the palace at Edoras and a loyal friend of the King. He caught Miriel by the shoulders and held her. "Answer me, I beg you!"

"He's- he's dead," Miriel choked.

"No! It cannot be!" Rolande looked dazed and upset, but he gripped Miriel all the harder. "How did this happen? You must tell me everything!"

Miriel and Rolande went outside the village. They sat down in the midst of the windswept plains and Miriel told the sad tale.

There had been a battle in the land of Gondor, which lay between Rohan and Mordor. Outside the White City of Minas Tirith, in the Pelennor Fields, a great force from the West, including the Rohirrim led by King Theoden, rode to the aid of Gondor.

It was a long and terrible fight. The men from the West attacked while the defenders of Gondor waged their battle from within the walls of Minas Tirith. The Witch King, one of the nine evil servants of Sauron called the Nazgul, struck King Theoden down. A young soldier named Dernhelm had tried to defend him.

Dernhelm killed the Nazgul king, but broke an arm in the process and fell ill from the wound. They discovered that this Dernhelm was actually the Princess Eowyn who had ridden to battle in the guise of a common soldier. She was in the Houses of Healing inside Minas Tirith, but it was uncertain if she would survive for long.

King Theoden had named Eomer his heir just before he died. Eomer, now the new king of Rohan, arose and fought valiantly. Then a fleet of black ships sailed in on the Anduin River, and it was assumed that those vessels carried reinforcements for the armies of Mordor. But lo and behold, it was none other than the Lord Aragorn who sprang to shore, leading a host of the Dead from the mountains. The minions of Sauron fled before the Dead in terror. The battle was concluded swiftly.

But even in victory, the losses were great, and Eowyn lay injured and perhaps dying in Minas Tirith. Their strength in numbers was considerably weakened, but they needed to march upon Mordor soon. The outlook was rather bleak.

Rolande sighed heavily when Miriel came to the end of the tale.

"So King Theoden has gone to join his fathers," Rolande muttered sadly.

Miriel nodded.

"I fought beside him, but I hardly knew him," Miriel murmured. "Yet I grieve, for he was a great leader and a valiant warrior, and he would have had me for a daughter had time and fate allowed. And the Lady Eowyn! She marched into battle and now lies at death's door. My brother Eomer, the new King of Rohan, is leading the Rohirrim on a doomed march to Mordor. It is just as I feared, Rolande. Very soon I shall be alone."

They fell silent, for nothing more could be said. But the hope seemed stolen from their hearts. Rolande glanced at Miriel with some concern.

"What about the one you love? You know, the Elven fellow?" he asked tentatively, but there was a sharp note in his voice. "Did you receive any news of him?"

Miriel winced and her frown deepened. She shook her head.

"No, but it doesn't matter. When the war is over, the Shadow will cover all the land in darkness. Then none will be left." She stared at the village and watched the workers bustling about. They were blissfully unaware of the terrible things taking place in the East.

"What are we doing this for, Rolande?" Miriel cried. "Why do we go on rebuilding this ruined land when there is no hope?"

"The battle has not ended yet," returned Rolande in a deadpan tone, for although he shared her sentiments, he refused to agree to such an ugly suggestion.

"We are only prolonging the inevitable!" exclaimed Miriel. "When the Shadow prevails, all will be destroyed and our labors will be in vain!"

Rolande said nothing in reply.

Suddenly, as if to punctuate Miriel's words, the sun was blotted out, and a chill wind swept at their backs from the east. Rolande and Miriel stood as one and stared at the skies. Thick black clouds moved in and stole the light from them. Miriel's hair stood on end and she shivered, but not from the cold.

"Sauron," growled Miriel, eyeing the dark masses in fierce anger. Then she spun and raced down the hill to the village with Rolande right behind her.

"A storm is coming!" Miriel shouted as she ran. "Get everyone inside!"

Instantly the villagers stampeded for cover. The path was choked with running people and the air exploded with desperate cries. It was blacker than a moonless midnight, even though it was late afternoon. Miriel could hardly see her hand in front of her face, and in the midst of the panic she lost her way to the house. The ground shook with violent earthquakes, and Miriel was thrown down. She got up and staggered onward, but she was shoved by the crowd and fell again. Miriel could not rise amid all the people. She crawled in the dust, avoiding forests of running feet as she tried to find Rolande. She climbed to her feet and fought to remain standing.

All at once Miriel heard someone calling her name. She saw an orange glow not far away, shining like a beacon of hope. Miriel turned and groped toward it, stumbling as she went. Soon she was close enough to make out a flaming torch in the gloom. It was held by Rolande. Miriel fell against him and clung to his arm. She was never so glad to see him.

"This way!" Rolande shouted, and he led her through the crowds into the safety of her house. Once inside, Miriel leaned against the wall and Rolande shut the door.

When Miriel had caught her breath, she looked out the window and was pleased to see that the lane was rapidly clearing. As she watched, the last person disappeared into a hut. Everyone had made it to their own homes.

Miriel turned away and sighed.

"There is nothing more we can do for them," she muttered.

Rolande lit some candles and eyed Miriel as he sat down in a corner chair.

"Now what?" he asked.

Miriel shrugged and slumped wearily into a chair across from him.

"Now we wait," she answered quietly.


	12. THREE DAYS OF DARKNESS

A QUIET EVENING

THREE DAYS OF DARKNESS

For three endless days that were as long as years, night covered the land of Rohan. The dark was so thick it could almost be felt. The villagers could do no work, for they had no light to see by. The people were isolated in their homes, for only the boldest dared venture forth to ask a neighbor for any food or supplies they needed. Then they would creep out of their houses, heavily cloaked, clutching a candle in a trembling hand and gripping the clammy hilt of a sword in the other.

Everyone wondered what was going on in the East. Many whispered that Mordor must have conquered and wondered what doom was close at hand.

Miriel and Rolande huddled together in the darkness, their faces pale and drawn. They spoke little and ate almost nothing; Miriel would not have eaten anything except for Rolande constantly forcing small meals on her although he could hardly bring himself to pick at a little stew. They paced the floor in the weak light humbly offered by a weary yellow candle. They gave away all they could spare to anyone who showed up at their door, and offered brave but empty words of encouragement.

Miriel slept very little. Rolande ordered her to try and rest while he kept watch, but Miriel would wake with a sudden start out of some evil dream and spend the night sitting wrapped in her cloak and trembling by the eastern window.

Silent prayers barely escaped her lips. Days and nights melted together. Miriel lost all track of time. Her heart forgot that daylight had ever existed. The darkness seemed to blot out hope, clutching at the throats of Men and stealing their breath away.

Suddenly a shaft of light pierced the endless twilight. Miriel leapt to her feet and wrenched open the door. The sun shore aside the thick black clouds, and brilliant orange and golden rays streamed down upon the land. People were slowly coming out into the daylight, shading their eyes and giving exclamations of wonder and cautious delight, as if they had never before beheld the dawn.

In a single bound Miriel was off the threshold and running up the path. Rolande dashed to the doorway.

"Miriel!" he shouted, but Miriel did not heed him. She raced ever upward, her gray cloak fluttering and snapping behind her, and Rolande followed in her wake, trying to catch up.

At last Miriel reached the hilltop and looked out, and nearly lost her balance as the ground shook violently from the force of another earthquake. Miriel gasped as she stared toward Mordor.

Lighting split the skies that were red with fire and black with smoke. Thunder rolled across the plains. Explosions shattered the horizon with blazing yellow light. Miriel's eyes went wide with horror as she watched.

"Something terrible is happening!" Miriel cried above the tumult as Rolande came up puffing.

"Yes, but what?" panted Rolande, seeing the terrible spectacle for himself.

Miriel turned and ran blindly down the hill. She was heading for the stables.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out!"

"Wait! Where are you going?" Rolande shouted, plunging after her. But Miriel was already far ahead, and by the time he burst into the barn, Miriel had thrown a saddle over Kaspir's back and was tightening the girth.

"Are you crazy?" cried Rolande, at her side in an instant. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I've got to go to him," Miriel muttered without looking at Rolande.

"You're insane," exclaimed Rolande. He grabbed Kaspir's bridled head and gripped it firmly. "You can't go out there! I won't let you!"

Instantly Miriel spun and faced Rolande. An angry light shone in her steel gray eyes.

"Why not?" she snapped. "Legolas is out there. He needs me!"

"What can you possibly do to help him?" Rolande shot back.

"More than I can staying here!" Miriel retorted. Then she sighed and made an effort to control herself, and she continued in a quieter, more diplomatic tone. "I've been away from him too long, Rolande. I've been sick with worry and I can't wait any more. I should have gone to him sooner. I have to leave, now."

Rolande looked desperate.

"What about the people?" he cried, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the village. "What about the rebuilding of Rohan?"

Miriel smiled at him gently and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You take over for me, Rolande."

Fury flamed in Rolande's face.

"I won't leave you!" he returned hotly, tearing away from her grasp.

"You must!" argued Miriel. "Someone needs to stay and protect them!"

"Someone needs to protect you!"

Miriel lost her composure. "I don't need protecting! I can take care of myself!" Miriel shouted back.

Rolande bowed his head and glared holes in the floor. He was silent for a long moment. At last he sighed, and when he spoke again, his voice was fell and determined.

"I won't leave you, Miriel, and that's final. If you are set on leaving, I'm going with you. Give me ten minutes and I'll be right behind you."

Miriel stood still as stone, staring at him without emotion. Finally she nodded.

"Very well," agreed Rolande, and he sounded greatly relieved. "That's settled. We'll go together."

And with that he shot out of the barn. Miriel stood alone in the sudden quiet and turned to Kaspir.

"I guess we'll be having company," Miriel said as she stroked her horse. Kaspir nickered and nuzzled her, and a smile passed over Miriel's face.

By the time Rolande returned, lugging two heavy brown sacks on his shoulders, Miriel had Rolande's gray horse saddled and waiting. Rolande threw a sack over Kaspir and another over his own mount.

"I've got food and other supplies," he explained as he secured the bundles. "It will be a three- or four-day trip to Gondor, so I brought enough to last us that long. I placed a village elder in your stead in our absence and issued orders to the guards. Everyone should be fine."

Miriel smiled gratefully as Rolande helped her onto Kaspir's back.

"Thanks, Rolande. You've thought of everything. I couldn't have done this without you."

Rolande shot her a wry glance. "I can't believe you were going to," he retorted.

Rolande mounted his horse and they rode out of the stable and into the daylight. Several people ran after them to see them off. Soon Miriel and Rolande reached the edge of town and were on their way. The village and the crowds that had come out to bid them farewell faded into the distance.

The horses cantered freely over the golden grasses and the soft breeze blew away the last remaining shreds of the ugly black clouds from the sky. Miriel's spirits lifted and she looked back at Rolande.

"I feel lighthearted, as if all is well," she commented.

Rolande nodded. "If the Shadow has prevailed, it sure doesn't seem like it at this moment," he replied.

Miriel's face went grim as she turned and stared straight ahead.

"Only time will tell," said Miriel quietly.


	13. THE ROAD TO MINAS TIRITH

THE ROAD TO MINAS TIRITH

The trip to Gondor lasted three days and four nights. Miriel pushed Kaspir hard in her eagerness to reach the White City. They stopped only to eat or sleep and spoke little. The weather was perfect for such a journey, for the storm was gone and the sun smiled down on them.

At last, at dawn on the forth morning, they were standing on a hill overlooking Minas Tirith standing seven tiers tall in all its glory. Miriel and Rolande paused to gaze upon the breathtaking city. Each level was delved into the hillside, and the whole city gleamed white in the sun. Even from that distance they could see damage and ruin among the lovely carved towers, and here and there dark holes and empty spaces gaped like missing teeth where entire buildings had collapsed.

Directly below them, between where they stood and Minas Tirith, lay the Pelennor Fields, now a blackened and barren wasteland littered with broken swords, splintered spears and shattered shields. Shreds of dirty cloth and tattered standards blew dismally in the wind.

As Miriel and Rolande rode upon the deserted field, they saw plenty of evidence of the terrible battle. New graves had been dug, and still the field was not clear of debris and shards of metal, and the scorched earth was stained dark with blood. The very air stank with the foul scent of Orcs and other evil creatures and hung heavy with a black cloud of death.

They walked slowly through the Pelennor Fields, and Miriel's heart sank heavily with sorrow as she looked about, knowing the great number of good men that fell that awful day in the defense of not only Gondor, but all of Middle-earth. She passed one grave that was green with a fuzz of new grass already, and leaning closer she beheld a stone bearing an inscription at its head. Miriel was seized with curiosity, and she halted Kaspir and slid to the ground to read it.

"Faithful servant yet master's bane,

Lightfoot's foal, swift Snowmane."

Miriel gasped as she stretched out her hand and tentatively brushed her fingers over the letters on the rock carved in the tongues of Gondor and of the Mark. Behind her Rolande sat, staring at her in amazement.

"You can read?" he breathed, his brown eyes fixed with wonder.

Miriel ignored him.

"This is the grave of a horse that fell in the battle," Miriel murmured to herself. "Snowmane. That was the name of King Theoden's horse. Snowmane died here."

She stood up and looked around her at the empty battlefield through tear-clouded eyes. Rolande sat silent upon his gray horse, his observation already forgotten.

"This is the place King Theoden died," she said in a quavering voice. "Snowmane was his master's bane. Perhaps they were suddenly attacked and the horse rolled upon his rider even in his death agony..."

Miriel's words trailed off and her chin trembled as she looked around her and beheld visions of the battle not long past, but she mastered herself with an effort. She gazed hard at the land beneath her feet.

"Somewhere near here the Lady Eowyn fell also," Miriel added. "She was taken to the Houses of Healing, stricken and wounded. Perhaps she is-"

Miriel gave a short cry of dismay and ran toward her horse. She leapt upon Kaspir and sent him flying toward Minas Tirith at full gallop. Rolande shouted her name and charged after her.

As they neared the great city, Miriel looked up at the walls and battlements and saw them decorated with fair banners that fluttered gaily in the wind. She could see people moving about, and they seemed neither weary nor sorrowful, even as they passed to and fro before the broken gate to the entrance of the city. Miriel stared in confusion. Celebration and destruction did not usually go hand in hand. She pulled her horse to an uncertain halt and stood there on her snorting black stallion as if she were unsure of what to do.

Suddenly a great shout broke from one of the high walls.

"Lady Miriel! Lady Miriel!"

"Legolas!" Miriel cried out joyously, recognizing the voice at once. But although she searched the whole of Minas Tirith with her eyes and looked upon every inch of the vast walls, she could not see the fair Elf anywhere.

"Legolas!" Miriel called again, spurring Kaspir forward to greater speed. As she neared the ruined gate, a figure clad all in white as an Elven prince appeared among the wreckage.

With a single breathless shriek Miriel leapt from the back of her horse and flew straight into the waiting arms of Legolas. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, but she laughed as she cried. Legolas stroked her dark hair and tenderly kissed her brow as he held her tightly.

"You're safe, you're safe," Miriel said over and over again. They stood there at the broken gate of the White City, and the winds that swirled around them carried away their endless whispers. Their loving words were lost in the mists of time, but those that beheld the reunion of the Warrior Princess of Rohan and the Elven Prince of Mirkwood felt their hearts gladden at the sight. Rolande could not help but smile even as he averted his eyes and turned away, still smitten by a bitter hurt that none could mend.

Finally Miriel remembered Rolande and she went back to call her horse, who by now was wandering freely and grazing on the plain. Rolande was surprised to see that Miriel fairly glowed with an inner light that blazed forth especially in her silver-gray eyes. Miriel led her horse to the gate herself, but Rolande dismounted and bowed low before her as he took Kaspir's reins.

"My lady," he murmured in a quiet voice full of a strange respect and awe that Miriel had never heard him use before. "Allow me to house the horses myself. You have far more important matters to attend to," he added with a wry grin as he glanced pointedly at Legolas, who was waiting nearby.

Miriel was clearly surprised and pleased.

"Thank you, Rolande," she answered. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don't know how much this means to me."

"I think I do," answered Rolande steadily with deep feeling. "For the first time, I understand."

Miriel paused a moment and gave Rolande a quick smile before she ran to Legolas.

Rolande watched as the two slowly walked off, hand in hand, peaceful in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Minas Tirith. It seemed to Rolande that the sun shined down on only the Princess and the Elf, filling the air about the two lovers with a soft glow as they spoke quietly together.

At last Rolande turned and headed for the stables, leading the horses behind him. His heart was heavy, but an unbidden grin was on his face as he went.


	14. TALES IN THE CITADEL

TALES IN THE CITADEL

"I'm so glad you're here," said Legolas as they walked along the lowest tier of Minas Tirith together.

"I couldn't wait to see you," answered Miriel, looking up at him. "I wanted to know if you were safe. I worried about you every moment of every day and night. I prayed so hard for your protection. What has happened since we parted? You must tell me everything!"

Legolas smiled.

"I will, hiril nin," he promised. "Come with me. I will take you around the White City first, and then I want to take you to the top of Minas Tirith, and we can sit at the fountain of the Citadel and have a chance to talk."

"What does 'hiril nin' mean?" asked Miriel.

"Oh! I forget sometimes that you're not an Elf," Legolas replied. "I find it so easy to slip into my tongue when I'm around you! 'Hiril nin' translates to 'my lady'."

"Speaking of translations," interjected Miriel. "There is a song that I learned during the battle of Helm's Deep, when I was injured and saw the Elven forest and heard the voice of Elbereth. I do not know what the words mean. Perhaps you can tell me."

"I will do my best," Legolas answered.

They paused by a wall overlooking Gondor, and Legolas listened intently as Miriel began to sing. She remembered each word as if it were forever etched in her memory:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel!

Mornada i venel a andelu i ven.

Le nallon, sî di-nguruthos!

Lasto beth nin a thau nin!

Brono, bara gwend,

No thalion, annui maethor!

Tolo dan na ngalad,

Na en rammas! Na en dagor!

"Do you understand any of it, or is it just a collection of nonsense?" asked Miriel a little anxiously when she finished.

Legolas laughed merrily.

"Do I understand it!" he exclaimed. "Do I ever! Your Elvish is beautiful, Miriel. It's like you've always spoken the language. As for your song, give me a moment and I will translate it into the Westron tongue as best I can."

Legolas was quiet for a moment, and then he burst out in a deep, rich voice:

O Elbereth Starkindler!

The sky is darkening and the road is too dangerous.

To thee I cry, here under death-horror!

Hear my voice and help me!

Live long, fiery maiden,

Be brave, western warrior!

Come back to the light,

To the Great Wall! To the fight!

The clear song of the Elven lord breaking over the white towers of Minas Tirith brought all who heard it to a standstill as if they had been cast under a sudden spell. Work ceased as the people strained as one to catch Legolas's every word. Silence reigned when he finished. Miriel was just as affected by Legolas's voice as the strangers around her. She cleared her throat and swallowed, and blinked away an unbidden tear.

"Wow," she managed to say.

"They are indeed powerful words," replied Legolas, mistaking Miriel's meaning.

Miriel nodded and did not respond. They spell passed, and they continued walking. The activity slowly resumed behind them as the Elf and the maiden moved on.

Miriel and Legolas talked and laughed as they took the curving pathway to the top of Minas Tirith, rejoicing in one another's company and quickly healing from the inner pain of being apart for so long.

Legolas gave her a quick tour of the famous White City and pointed out the special buildings as they passed. But he seemed eager to get it over with.

At last they reached the white-paved courtyard surrounded by a bright sward of green. A fountain stood in the center of the path that led to the White Tower, merrily tossing forth sprays of water that shimmered and sparkled as they rose and fell in the sunlight.

Miriel gave a little cry and ran to the fountain, for standing beside the shining waters in the marble basin was a white tree that must have been beautiful once but now stood withered and dead. Miriel gently laid a hand upon the dry trunk and felt oddly sorry for it. Crystal droplets fell from its barren white branches, dripping slowly like tears back into the clear water of the pool.

"What is this?" Miriel wondered aloud as Legolas came up behind her. "Everywhere we are surrounded by lovely green and growing things, but this great tree is dead."

"This tree was grown from a seed that Elendil himself bore out of the land of Numenor," replied Legolas as they sat down together beside the fountain. "It withered long ago, but being a relic from Westernesse nobody removed it. It has remained here before the Citadel, as a sort of reminder of the promise that the king will one day return."

Miriel nodded and turned from the tree, stirred by the mention of Westernesse.

"Do you still have my ring?" asked Miriel softly.

Legolas nodded and showed her. "Many an arrow was deflected by its power alone," he said with no little wonder in his voice. "It took awhile to get accustomed to it, but then it became commonplace, and I no longer thought about it."

Miriel choked. Legolas held out his hand to her, and Miriel stroked the silver circlet lovingly.

"Tell me now everything that has befallen," she whispered.

They sat down on the cool marble edge of the fountain, and a light spray of water would now and then fall upon them like morning mist as Legolas told the tale. Legolas had had a very long and dangerous journey which he recounted in full to Miriel, who listened eagerly but half in terror of what might have happened.

"After we left Helm's Deep, we traveled to Isengard through Fangorn Forest, a very old wood full of dark legends. But I found it intriguing! It was indeed ancient, and it has many secrets. I wished I could have lingered longer and learned something of its trees. Gimli was very uncomfortable in Fangorn," Legolas said with a slightly mischievous smile. "He fretted about missing a tour of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, which he had only had time to glimpse briefly. And just as I, being of Elven-kind, am most at home among the familiar green forests of trees and growing things, Gimli of the Dwarves loves rock and cave and the deep, dark places of the underworld. So we promised one another that if we manage to return in times of peace, we will visit both wood and cave together. I agreed to it, not for myself, but mainly for his comfort."

Miriel grinned and raised her eyebrows at him. She knew the Elf would take a kind of delight in dragging a jumpy, nervous Gimli through Fangorn Forest against his will once more. It was a golden opportunity that could not be passed up at any cost. It was even worth venturing into the mysterious caverns of the dark caves for! Legolas ignored Miriel's knowing look and continued his story.

"When we arrived in Isengard, we found the black tower of Orthanc, once a powerful and menacing presence, standing like a lonely island amid deep waters. The dam had been broken and the river released by the Ents, who are great treelike creatures and keepers of the forest, and good friends of my fair kindred. The dark smithies of Isengard were flooded and the places under the earth were Saruman had once bred his armies of Orcs and forged black weapons and armor were destroyed. The Ents remained at Isengard, so Saruman was trapped in the tower and well guarded and no longer a threat to anyone.

"While we were there, we were reunited with two members of the Nine Walkers that had set out from Rivendell. Both were Halflings, Hobbits of the Shire, who were captured and were taken prisoner by Orcs sent by Saruman. Aragorn, Gimli and I had pursued them both night and day just before we arrived in Edoras and began the journey to Helm's Deep. The Hobbits were named Meriadoc Brandybuck, or Merry for short, and Peregrin Took, called Pippin. They had been rescued by the Ents and brought to Isengard among friends, and I was surprised and relieved that they had suffered no hurt from their adventure."

"I see Isengard was causing trouble all over the place," muttered Miriel darkly.

Legolas nodded in wordless agreement.

"While Gandalf spoke with one of the Ents who was the guardian of Fangorn Forest, Pippin noticed a strange glow in the water," said Legolas. "He was drawn to it. He waded into the flood and groped at it until he pulled up a dark heavy ball that had an orange light burning deep inside its heart. Gandalf immediately took it from the Hobbit and covered it with his cloak, but none of us knew that it was too late for Pippin. One glance was enough to be not enough for the ever-inquisitive Halfling.

"The stone that Pippin picked up was actually a Palantir, a Seeing Stone, one of the seven Seeing Stones of Gondor brought to Middle-earth from the destroyed land of Numenor by King Elendil. Sauron managed to capture one Palantir in the tower of Minas Ithil, which became Minas Morgul, the lair of the Nazgul. Saruman possessed a Palantir also, and back when he was Saruman the White, he used his Stone and gain knowledge of the world. But when the wizard looked into his Palantir and his restless gaze strayed toward Mordor, Sauron laid a trap for him and Saruman was caught. That was one of the reasons Saruman turned to the dark side and became a traitor.

"And now young Pippin had held the Palantir controlled by the Enemy, and besides the pull Sauron exuded upon the Stone, Pippin's unquenchable curiosity was stirred. The Hobbit would have no peace until he had looked into the Palantir once more and probed its black depths.

"Then the company led by Gandalf and King Theoden returned to Edoras where we found rest for a while. There was a feast to celebrate the victory at Helm's Deep. Everyone seemed jubilant, and I was happy for them, but I had no peace in my spirit. I got up and went out on the wall to look toward the East. Aragorn soon joined me, and I learned he felt the same nameless fear and concern as I.

"Aragorn asked me to tell him what I saw, for I can see far beyond the sight of mortal Men. Mordor was a boiling cauldron of turmoil. Fire and smoke erupted from Mount Doom, and the thickest storm clouds you've ever seen choked the dark skies and blotted out the stars. I perceived that the great Eye of the Barad-dur was moving restlessly in its sleepless malice.

"Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I felt a terrible blackness descend upon Edoras that filled my very bones with dread. I could feel the presence of Sauron, and let me tell you, Lady Miriel, there is nothing I have ever encountered in this world so horrible.

" 'He is here!' I cried to Aragorn in alarm, and at once we went running into the lodging, where everyone had been sleeping. We burst in the door and found Pippin gripping the dark round stone from Isengard tightly, locked in some terrible battle of the mind with the Enemy. Flames burned at his hands, and the Hobbit shrieked in horror and pain and struggled with all his might to free himself, but he could not let go.

"Aragorn sprang and knocked the ball away from Pippin, but the evil thing then latched onto Aragorn. Aragorn held it rigidly and he could not wrench his sight from it as the fire burned him also. I put forth all my strength and pulled hard at Aragorn. We were thrown across the room as the heavy globe fell and rolled around on the floor. I caught Aragorn as he fell into a momentary faint. Gandalf immediately pounced on the Palantir and threw a cloth over it. At once peace and quiet settled upon us as the darkness of Sauron was covered over and departed.

"Gandalf questioned Pippin hard about what he had seen in the stone. Fortunately the Dark Lord had learned little about the company, but Pippin had been shown, presumably for his torture, a part of Sauron's plan. Sauron judged that the defenses of Middle-earth were far from strong enough to hold him off and resist for long, so his next move was to invade Gondor and destroy Minas Tirith."

Miriel shivered as she looked around her at the White Tower and the people bustling in the city below.

"Why did he want to attack Minas Tirith first?" she asked. "What is so special about the capitol of Gondor?"

"Because it is the greatest stronghold of free Men in Middle-earth," Legolas answered. "If Sauron had succeeded in taking it, the rest of the world probably would have swiftly fallen to his rule. And of all cities, this was the one the Enemy most feared. Yes, even Sauron feared it, for good reason. Many prophecies of old proclaimed that One would come and claim the kingship, and that this One would be the downfall of the Dark Lord. Sauron did not want to see these things foretold come to pass, so he wanted to strike quickly before any of it took place. He nearly accomplished his goal."

"So... there is no king of Gondor then?" wondered Miriel.

"No. Stewards there are only. They have taken care of this great city since the last king in the line of Elendil, Isildur, went away to war and did not return, leaving no heir to the throne. The Stewards have kept the city and none have claimed the kingship, which has remained empty… until now."

"So there is a new king in Minas Tirith?" Miriel cried in excitement, glancing back at the tower as if she expected the King himself to come forth from its great doors at any moment, swathed in a blaze of glorious light and heralded by loud trumpets.

Legolas hesitated before answering. "No, no, not yet," he finally ventured. "But that may change soon enough. Isildur's heir has come at last, and much that has been foretold will shortly come to pass. But we will not speak of that just yet. I must first tell you more of what happened after we knew that Minas Tirith stood on the brink of great danger."

Miriel nodded and leaned forward intently as Legolas continued.

"Having learned that the doom of the White City was close at hand, Gandalf took Pippin and left Edoras on a swift white horse named Shadowfax, one of the Mearas, who could outrun the wind and leave ordinary horses breathless in his wake. I remained in Edoras with Aragorn, Gimli and Merry, and we took council with King Theoden and Eomer while we waited.

"King Theoden was loathe to ride to the aid of Gondor, for Denethor, the current Steward of Gondor, was never forthcoming with aid when Rohan was threatened and cried for help. But several days later the beacons of Gondor that were set upon the mountaintops to be lit only in great need suddenly blazed forth with fire. Aragorn at last prevailed upon Theoden King, so the King gathered the Rohirrim and we set out at once for Minas Tirith. The Lady Eowyn came with us also to see us off."

Miriel gasped. "Eowyn!" she cried. "I'd almost forgotten! Legolas, you must tell me. Is she all right?"

"Yes, she is recovering in the Houses of Healing," Legolas answered.

"Oh! Good! That is wonderful!" breathed Miriel in relief. "When will I see her?"

"I shall take you myself shortly, if that is your wish," Legolas replied.

"Thank you! It is!" gushed Miriel. "This news lightens my heart greatly. Last I heard, she had been wounded terribly in battle and death was near."

"It was," Legolas confirmed soberly. "I will tell you how that all came about in time.

"We were not the only ones who responded to Gondor's call for aid," Legolas continued. "We camped at Dunharrow, and from all corners of Middle-earth steady streams of Men were arriving all through the day in large numbers.

"That evening, a visitor came late at night and met with Aragorn. I saw this take place and roused Gimli, sensing a change in our plans; for although the stranger was well hooded and cloaked, I recognized the Lord Elrond of Rivendell.

"Aragorn emerged a while later leading his saddled horse, Brego, who had long been his friend and companion through many dangers. Gimli was sitting near one of the tents and calmly smoking a pipe.

"'Just where do you think you're off to?' Gimli demanded.

"'Not this time, Gimli,' Aragorn replied firmly without breaking stride or even a glance in Gimli's direction. He was stern and resolute as he continued walking by.

"But at that moment I came up leading our horse, Arod, already saddled and prepared for the journey.

"'Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of Dwarves?" I asked Aragorn."

Miriel burst out laughing.

"Not to mention the stubbornness of the Elves!" declared Miriel.

"Gimli did play his part to perfection," said Legolas with an unmistakable tone of pride in his voice and a smile bright enough to light the sky. "That was fun!

"Aragorn had no choice but to accept our offer, of course. So we joined Aragorn and left Dunharrow under the cover of night. On the way, Aragorn explained to us everything that Lord Elrond had told him. Elrond gave him the sword that had been called Narsil, which was the very sword that Isildur used to cut the Ring from the hand of Sauron in the first war. Narsil had been broken into many pieces, and the shards were guarded as relics in Rivendell. But now the Blade that was Broken was reforged. It was renamed Anduril, which means 'Flame of the West', and given to its rightful owner, Isildur's own heir."

Legolas paused and gave her a significant glance. Slowly light dawned on Miriel.

"You mean to tell me," Miriel exclaimed in a tone infused with deep shock, "That the Lord Aragorn is actually of the line of Elendil? The heir to the throne of Gondor?"

Legolas nodded happily.

"Yes, and I had long known this. But the odds were stacked mightily against him ever coming here to claim the kingship. It did seem impossible, especially since one of the things Elrond told Aragorn was that a secret army of Corsair ships sailed the River Anduin from the south. If we traveled with the Rohirrim, we would arrive in Gondor too late to save anyone. We had to take a shortcut. There was only one option: We needed to take the Dimholt Road through the Paths of the Dead."

Miriel's jaw fell open, and she shivered.

"Even I have heard of that accursed place!" she cried. "Any that travel that way are never heard from again! What madness possessed Lord Elrond to send you on that haunted road?"

Legolas stiffened and his eyes glinted.

"Do not speak of Lord Elrond that way, my lady," he said sternly, but he softened as he continued. "I understand that it would seem foolish. But Lord Elrond has the gift of foresight, and it is wise to trust his judgment in all things. Time was running out, and we had to overtake the Corsairs and reach Gondor ahead of the Rohirrim if we had any hope of saving Middle-earth from falling. Elrond told Aragorn this, and Elrond also hinted that Aragorn would gather an army along the way. If Elrond said to take the Paths of the Dead, then to the Paths of the Dead we would go."

"What kind of army would linger in such a place?" wondered Miriel.

"Gimli asked me the very same question," Legolas replied. "I will give you the same answer I gave the Dwarf.

"Long ago, at the beginning of the establishment of Gondor, the King of the Mountains swore an oath to serve Isildur and to fight for him. But when Sauron grew in might, Isildur summoned the Men of the Mountains to fulfill that oath and fight against the Dark Lord. But they would not, for they had been servants of Sauron in the Dark Years, and because of their former allegiance they ran away out of fear of their one-time master.

"So Isildur cursed them, declaring that the Men of the Mountains could not rest until their oath was fulfilled. They fled before Isildur's wrath and hid in the mountains. They dared not fight for either side, neither Gondor nor Mordor. There in the mountains they long remained, unable to pass away from this world.

"The ghosts of Men hold no terror for the Elves, and yet even I found it hard to endure walking under those black trees. When we came to the Dark Door, our noble horses became frightened and bolted away. Arod was the first to run, but not even loyal Brego gave heed when Aragorn called his name. We stood staring after our fleeing steeds, and we could feel fear seeping from the Dark Door like a thin gray vapor that could chill a man to his very bones.

"'The way is shut,' I declared. 'It was made by those that are dead, and they do not suffer the living to pass.'

"But Aragorn faced the yawning black hole at the base of the Haunted Mountain and boldly lifted his sword Anduril before him.

"'I do not fear death,' he said to the darkness, and with that he stepped over the threshold and vanished in the gloom. I clutched my bow in readiness and plunged in after him. Gimli did not follow at once. I heard him muttering and stomping about at the entrance, sorely wroth with himself for being afraid. At last he too came and marched nervously behind me, and I was forced to endure his Dwarfly jitters of fear all during that long walk.

"As we walked and glanced in every direction, we could hear voiceless whispers and see ghostlike shapes in the caverns about us that melted away whenever we looked upon them. Gimli quaked in his boots, but Aragorn seemed endowed with a fell bravery, almost a recklessness that I had never before seen in him, and he led us without faltering.

"Suddenly, as we came to a narrow part of the cave path, a lone figure materialized and blocked our way. He was as white as transparent flour, and he wore a pale crown on his head. His eyes were empty black holes in his sickly face. He gave us a menacing grin.

"'Who enters my domain?' the King demanded.

"'One who will have your allegiance,' answered Aragorn firmly.

"'The Dead do not suffer the living to pass,' was the pale King's cold reply.

"'You will suffer me,' Aragorn boldly commanded, and he moved forward as if to defy the King of the Dead.

"But his statement only seemed to amuse the King as a boast that carried no weight. He threw back his head and gave an evil laugh that echoed off the gray walls. His laughter was joined by other voices, and at once the very air wavered as an army of the Dead all became quite visible. They were hideous to look upon, like shadows of white skeletons. They surrounded us, a ring of hundreds of smoky gray ghosts closing in upon three outsiders. There was no way out.

"'The way is shut,' the King said in a threatening tone. 'It was made by those who are dead and the Dead keep it. The way is shut. Now you must die.'

"I didn't like the way he spoke to Aragorn, so I loosed an arrow at him. It hit him in the forehead and passed right through him and the men behind him as if they were made of mist, causing them no hurt. But Aragorn boldly addressed the King.

"'I summon you to fulfill your oath,' proclaimed Aragorn.

"'None but the King of Gondor may command me,' the dead King sneered back. He brought a sword crashing down on Aragorn.

"But Aragorn raised Anduril, and the leader's weapon bounced harmlessly off Aragorn's sword, Anduril. Aragorn grabbed the King by the throat.

"The effect it had on The Dead was astounding. They stopped silent and backed away in awe. No living man had thus withstood them since the day they had come and haunted those dreaded paths deep in the mountain.

"Now that he had their attention, Aragorn released the sputtering King and stepped forward to address the Dead. He seemed to have grown before our very eyes, and his voice held great power.

"'I am Isildur's heir!' Aragorn cried. 'Fight for me, and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you?'

"The Dead were loathe to agree, but they were weary of skulking in the mountain passages, unable to escape by means of death. Aragorn offered an undeniably good bargain. So they followed us as we went out of the Paths of the Dead. It is no longer haunted, so from this time forward it will be called simply 'The Dimholt Road' once more."

Miriel had to work to stifle a laugh. Even though his words conjured up images of terrible dangers and she was upset that she could have lost him at any time, he was here with her, and that took some of the sting out of his account. She was thoroughly enjoying his animated account, and her appreciation for his storytelling was not lost on Legolas.

"As we emerged from the mountain, I caught my breath as I took a look about me. A great body of water stretched on as far as the eye could see, without horizon. Gulls swooped and wailed and spoke of the great ocean, and I knew that it was indeed the Sea that lay before me."

Legolas stopped and sighed, staring into the West.

"Alas! The beautiful endless waters, the cries of the gulls, and the sun sinking low upon the ocean, setting both sky and Sea alight with blinding golden flame, have stolen my heart away. The West calls to me, and someday I must answer."

Miriel saw a look in the Elf's eyes that she had never seen before. Inner turmoil reflected in his drawn, thoughtful face.

"Legolas, is everything all right?" Miriel asked, perceiving that there was more to the Elf's trouble then she understood. She thought Legolas looked a little sad.

Legolas turned and looked back at her, but his mind seemed far away.

"Yes, Lady Miriel," he answered absently.

Miriel laid a gentle hand on his arm. "What happened next?" she asked.

Legolas pulled himself together with an effort. Light returned to his eyes as he looked at Miriel and slowly smiled.

"I am nearing only the middle of the tale," he continued. "We traveled swiftly to Pelargir where a great fleet of dark ships stood waiting in the waters: Black Corsairs from Mordor, which would bring reinforcements to Sauron's minions in the siege of Gondor. The Dead fell upon our enemies. The Orcs fled in terror, most drowning in their madness, others stampeding away to the South. We went aboard the Corsairs and sailed to Minas Tirith. We arrived at the Pelennor Fields in the midst of the great battle, and Aragorn and Gimli and I cowered low in the bottom of our boat and lie in wait as we drew up to the shores.

"We heard welcoming insults from the Orcs (since that is how Orcs greet their friends), but when we leapt onto solid ground their faces changed. At first they could only see the three of us, and they closed in to do away with us quickly. But as they charged upon us, the Dead suddenly appeared before them and struck terror into their black hearts.

"The hosts of white mist and shadow fell upon the forces of Mordor, slaying where they would, but their main weapon was fear and they wielded it well. The battle was swiftly ended, and Aragorn released the Dead from their oath. With a rush of wind and a sigh that sounded like great relief from countless years of waiting, the Dead blew away and vanished like thin wisps of smoke into the pale skies.

"We entered Minas Tirith victorious, but the losses were great and the city had taken heavy damage, which we have yet to repair." Legolas waved his hand in the direction of some ruined towers. "Thus that part of the tale was ended."

Miriel breathed her own sigh of relief. Legolas had the Elven gift of storytelling, and it held her spellbound. She felt as if she had been there herself, traveling beside Legolas, enduring all the trials, braving the terrible dangers, and beholding for the first time the Sea in all its glory. She sat enraptured in fair thoughts for a while. Then she turned to Legolas at last to beg him to tell the rest of the story, but the words froze before they left her lips. Legolas was still as a stone, staring into the West, his face full of great torment, anxiety and sorrow that grieved Miriel to behold.

"What is it, Legolas?" Miriel cried.

Legolas snapped around, and instantly the expression of distress vanished. As the Elf looked at her, a slow smile lit his sapphire blue eyes.

"Nothing, my lady," he replied, and indeed it seemed to Miriel as if that brief moment was gone beyond recall. Sympathy filled Miriel's heart, and she reached out and took Legolas's hand.

"You have passed through much fire and death," she murmured quietly. "You have traversed dark valleys in the blackened lands of Shadow. Experiences like that do not pass without leaving a mark, not even for the Elves."

Legolas smiled and took Miriel's hand softly into both of his.

"Already that mark has faded since you arrived, Lady Miriel," said Legolas quietly. "In time, I will be completely healed. I'm so glad you're here!"

"Me too," returned Miriel with feeling.

They were silent as the music of the fountain twinkled merrily beside them, and time seemed to stand still even as the sun rose high in cloudless skies overhead. Miriel said no more and soon forgot about it.

"I will now tell you the end of the story, my lady," Legolas declared at length, and Miriel drew nearer to his side to listen.

"Aragorn gathered all who were still able to fight after the battle of the Pelennor Fields," Legolas continued. "The war was not over, and it was still likely that we could not win. But we had one small beacon of hope.

"We were not alone. We had a secret mission that I was a part of. The company of the Nine Walkers that set out from Rivendell contained four young Halflings, Hobbits of the Shire, all very small and innocent creatures, but they are uncommonly brave. One of these carried a Ring, the One Ring that was cut from the hand of Sauron himself by Isildur in the first war."

Miriel gasped.

"I know of this! I heard that story!" she cried. "It was told to my mother while she dwelt in Edoras. But I thought it was only a legend."

"So did most inhabitants of Middle-earth, those who had not forgotten it entirely," said Legolas. "But it was true. And the Ring, by chance and fate, came to Frodo Baggins in the quiet green hills of the Shire. And we set out on a quest to destroy it, for the Ring was not only made by Sauron, it _was_ Sauron. His life force was bound to the Ring. As long as the One Ring existed, we could never destroy Sauron. And the only way to destroy the Ring was to cast it into the fires of Mount Doom, deep in the heart of Mordor. The Ring was created in those dark caverns, and that terrible mountain was the only place where it could be unmade."

Miriel shivered. "To undertake such a quest would seem like madness," she muttered.

"Yes, but it had to be done," replied Legolas. "Frodo agreed to take the Ring on the hopeless journey, though he knew he was likely marching to his death. These Hobbits are uncommonly brave. I was one of eight others chosen by Lord Elrond to travel with him and protect him. But the fellowship was broken when we were attacked by the Orcs that captured Pippin and Merry.

"Frodo and another Halfling, Sam, continued on to Mordor, while Aragorn and Gimli and I pursued the Orcs of Saruman across Rohan. Two members of our company were lost along our way. Boromir, a strong Man and a valiant captain of Gondor, was killed while trying to protect the Hobbits, and Gandalf fell in the darkness of Moria, the great hall of the Dwarves under the Caradhras Mountains. We thought him dead also, but he was sent back to fulfill his mission in the cause against Sauron, and we were reunited in Fangorn Forest while tracking the Hobbits.

"By the time the battle of the Pelennor Fields was over, we knew that Frodo and Sam had successfully entered Mordor. Faramir, a captain from Gondor and Boromir's brother, had seen them both before they crossed into the land of Shadow. Mordor was full of Orcs and other evil creatures under the dominion of the Dark Lord. We feared greatly for their safety.

"Aragorn had given thought to this. We needed to strike Mordor hard and swiftly. It would be a doomed battle, for we were outnumbered far worse than we were at Helm's Deep, and the soldiers we did have were tired and many were already wounded. But Aragorn said that we had to fight. We needed to distract Sauron, draw his forces away from Mordor and give the Hobbits a chance to throw the Ring into the fire.

"Whether or not we attacked Sauron, we were dead anyway. We were the last remaining defense of Middle-earth. Sauron was strong, and he would soon invade and conquer everything. Our only hope lay with Frodo and Sam, who were toiling somewhere across the barren landscape of Mordor, assuming they were still alive.

"We rode to the Black Gate, and Aragorn shouted a challenge to Sauron, ordering him to come forth that justice might be done upon him. For a long time there was no answer, and I thought perhaps there would be none.

"But suddenly the heavy gate swung open, and all of Sauron's armies poured forth. As far as the eye could see, there were Orcs, Goblins, the eight Nazgul on huge fell birds, giant Mumakil, Trolls and innumerable others covering the scorched hills of Mordor, all marching upon us. They were guided by the terrible Eye of Sauron, sitting at the crown of the Barad-dur, which was clearly visible now that we were so close. Aragorn raced back to the head of the Men of the West and gave one last rousing speech to salvage the remnants of their courage. I myself rallied to his bold words, but I thought surely this was the end.

"Gimli stood beside me, perhaps thinking these same things.

"'Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an Elf,' I heard him mutter.

"I turned and looked down at him. I had never dreamed that I would die beside a Dwarf, either.

"But all the things I had ever disliked and even hated about Dwarves, and all the bad blood and evil history between our two races, were, for me, wiped away in a single instant as I stood beside him in the moments before we met our doom on the Field of Cormallen. Gimli was a true heart, a bold fighter and a good friend. We had seen each other through everything. Suddenly it seemed as if a mask had fallen away, and I saw Gimli through new eyes. He was no longer a Dwarf, or a Longbeard, or a Cavedweller. He wasn't even shorter than me. I saw him as my own kinsman, like my brother. I was filled with love for Gimli right then.

"'What about side by side with a friend?' I asked.

"Gimli eyed me, his face alight with surprise, and the Dwarf's gaze grew warm.

"'Aye, I could do that,' he answered. And then we charged into our last battle together."

Legolas glanced up at Miriel and stopped abruptly. Miriel had covered her face with her hands and was weeping profusely. Her shining tears slid softly through her fingers and fell like glistening silver raindrops into the clear fountain waters of Minas Tirith.

"Lady Miriel," whispered Legolas, and he gathered her in his arms and pulled her close.

"I cannot bear to think of how close I came to losing you!" exclaimed Miriel brokenly as she cried blindly into his shoulder. "How many times can one Elf brush with death and still live? I wish I could have been there beside you, even if I had to ride into battle in disguise, like Eowyn. If you had fallen, I wouldn't even have known. How far away from here is the land of Rohan! If I had seen that messenger come riding into camp and heard that you had been killed, I would have collapsed to the earth and died myself!"

"No, my lady," said Legolas comfortingly, stroking her dark hair. "You would have lived. You are too strong to fall so easily."

"But I have already fallen to another force far greater," returned Miriel. "Love is both a blessing and a curse, striking whom it will, and most of all the unwary. Love causes great pain, and yet you cannot live without it. It wounds deeply and then makes you feel honored to welcome the hurt. It has a way of binding itself around your heart, and no matter who you are or how strong, it can bring you to your knees in an instant."

"You speak rashly," Legolas reproached her gently. "But your words are true. Love is very powerful." He sighed and looked longingly into the West. "Have I too not felt it? Have I not been stricken with the terrible arrow? It rends far more than flesh, and pierces deeper than marrow. It is sheer agony of the soul, and there are indeed none who can withstand it."

Miriel gripped Legolas's arm. "I have to know what happened," she cried, suddenly desperate. "I can wait no longer. You must tell me the rest of the story, and quickly!"

Legolas swallowed hard at the lump that had suddenly risen unbidden to his throat.

"As you wish, my lady," he answered, and taking a deep breath he kept his arms around her while he continued his tale.

"The forces of Mordor surrounded us. We were too few to hold them off, and they knew it as well as we did. We drew together into a tight circle, our weapons facing outward as our enemies prowled around us like hyenas with a murderous gleam in their eyes. The end was indeed upon us. There was nothing more we could do to resist them.

"Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion from Mount Doom. The Eye of Sauron gave a dreadful cry and turned its awful glance away from the battle, and the armies of Mordor stopped, suddenly bereft of direction and will, like a horse whose rider ceases to command it. The eight Nazgul suddenly careened crazily through the air as several great Eagles attacked them. We watched as the Nazgul wheeled over our heads and flew away shrieking into the dark sky toward the Mountain of Fire.

"The evil Eye of Sauron flashed and went out. The Barad-dur broke and crashed into smoldering black ruin in the dust. Mount Doom erupted with flame and molten rock shooting into the air and flowing down its sides. All the hosts of the East ran for their lives. Great cracks opened up all throughout the Black Land, and the armies of Mordor tumbled into the canyons and were swallowed up by the very earth.

"The end had indeed come, but not in the hopeless way I thought it would. We were not going to die. The Hobbits had succeeded. The Ring of Power was destroyed, and the terrible reign of Mordor was over."

Miriel stopped crying and looked up at him in wonder. The Elf's eyes were shining as brightly as the blue skies overhead as he returned her gaze, and he spoke the rest in a tone sweet and melodious and poetic.

"Then the wind blew, and the clouds rolled away, and the sun shined down on lands that had long lain under darkness and Shadow. Joy streamed in floods from the heavens. Weariness and sorrow fled with the night, and all our limbs were light, and how the men of the West sang and danced in that hour of victory!"

Suddenly merry laughter gushed forth like a rushing river from Legolas, and he leapt to his feet. He swept Miriel off the fountain and whirled her in a circle. Miriel was astonished, but she caught his excitement and shrieked as she was swung through the air.

"Now that you're here, my happiness is complete!" exclaimed Legolas, setting her on the ground again near the wall and pulling her gently to his side.

"Look!" he cried, extending his hand in the direction of Mordor. "There is nothing more to fear from the East. The Shadow has passed. It is gone forever. Middle-earth is free!"

Miriel laid her head on his shoulder and gave vent to her deep well of emotions. She laughed with Legolas, and then she burst into tears.


	15. EOWYN

EOWYN

At last Legolas took Miriel down from the Citadel and led her to the Houses of Healing. Eowyn was standing by a window looking more radiant than Miriel had ever seen her. When they entered her room, Eowyn turned in surprise and a broad smile lit her face.

"Miriel! My sister!" she cried, and the women rushed toward each other. Legolas bowed and left them alone.

Their reunion was long and joyful, and after a while they sat upon some chairs near the window to talk.

"You look wonderful," Miriel declared.

"What do you mean?" inquired Eowyn, smiling.

"You seem less like winter than before. You're blooming with color and radiance. It's almost as if the seasons changed and you've become a spring maiden rather than an ice queen."

"That is a good way to describe what has happened to me," Eowyn replied thoughtfully.

"Are you still in pain?" wondered Miriel.

"Not so much anymore," answered Eowyn, looking down at her arm. "I am nearly completely healed. But let me give you a bit of advice: If you get it into your head to fight the Lord of the Nazgul, bring a stronger shield."

Miriel laughed.

"What madness possessed you to ride to war?" asked Miriel.

"You should talk," said Eowyn with a wry sidelong glance at Miriel. "It was you who first gave me the idea. I wanted to be out fighting in Helm's Deep since day one, but the King ordered me to stay in the caves with the people. He never admitted it, but he didn't want me to get hurt, and I knew it.

"But of course I was furious, for just because I was a woman I was to hide from the battle while men fought and died for us. It was cowardly, and I detested it. If I had been born a man, I would have been beside them defending the wall, risking my life along with all of the other soldiers. Yet I meekly obeyed the order, for I loved Theoden King as my own father, and I had no wish to disobey him."

"But you disobeyed him anyway, in the end," Miriel reminded her.

Eowyn was sober as she looked at Miriel.

"In truth, I was jealous of you, Miriel," Eowyn confessed. "I didn't have the courage to defy my uncle's orders at Helm's Deep. After I learned of your deeds at Helm's Deep when the day was over, my resolve hardened. They would not leave me behind ever again while the men rode to war, I told myself. I knew I would probably not make much of a difference in the fight, but I had to go anyway. Later on, my heart carried a secret weight, and I did not care to live. I went seeking death on the battlefield of Cormallen, but I did not find it."

"You look almost better now than you did before you were injured in battle," commented Miriel as she watched Eowyn speak.

Eowyn smiled brightly, and Miriel again marveled at the obvious change that had come over her.

"I am indeed better than ever," Eowyn replied. "For I have been healed of not one hurt, but two. The second pain ran far deeper than the first."

"How were you wounded?" asked Miriel.

"I was defending King Theoden against the Lord of the Nazgul," Miriel answered, a shadow passing briefly over her face at the memory. "I killed the Nazgul, but he broke my arm and an evil fever came over me. At least I got to see King Theoden one last time as he lay on the battlefield, and I spoke to him in his final hour," she added wistfully. "That alone was worth the risk of riding to war. I was there when he gave his sword to Eomer and named my brother as his heir."

Heavy silence settled over them, but Miriel would not allow it to remain quiet for long and changed the subject.

"Tell me, what was the other pain you spoke of?"

"One that could only be cured by love," answered Eowyn, her face alight.

"You're in love?" Miriel cried, and her mind raced. "With- the Lord Aragorn?"

Eowyn looked shocked. Then she blushed and laughed merrily.

"No, Miriel, not Lord Aragorn," she replied with a smile. "I thought I loved him, but it was only a shadow and a thought that I admired and mistook for love. Lord Aragorn himself told me this, and I did not believe him and was deeply hurt by his words. Part of the reason I sought death with such complete reckless abandon was because Lord Aragorn did not share my feelings and return my affections, and I was so distraught that death seemed like sweet redemption.

"But redemption comes in many forms, and for me, it was not through death that I found it. Lord Aragorn was right. I am so grateful that I came to the battle and was wounded, for otherwise I would never have met... him."

"The man you love?" guessed Miriel.

Eowyn nodded dreamily.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense!" Miriel said, leaning to the edge of her chair. "Who is he?"

"He is Lord Faramir, a valiant captain of Gondor that was injured in the defense of Osgiliath," Eowyn answered. "He was injured almost to the death and was sent to the Houses of Healing. We met here, and after five days of anxious watching and waiting for news from the East we fell in love. Two days after the fall of the Barad-dur, he asked me to marry him, and I gladly consented."

"Lord Faramir! Legolas spoke of him!"

"Yes," Eowyn replied softly. "His father, Denethor, died, and now Faramir is the Steward of Gondor."

"Faramir is the Steward of Gondor!" Miriel repeated in disbelief.

"For now," said Eowyn. "But not for much longer. The King is coming soon."

"I heard. Legolas told me. I can't believe the one who fought with us in disguise at Helm's Deep is the rightful King of Middle-earth!"

"Lord Aragorn will be crowned in Minas Tirith very soon," announced Eowyn.

"Really?"

"Yes. The ceremony will be held here in four days."

"Four days?"

Eowyn nodded. "Not long ago, while I dwelt in Edoras, I would never have imagined that I was standing on the edge of legend," Eowyn declared. "Who would have thought we were living in the days that the ancient prophecies would at last be fulfilled?"

Miriel grinned wildly and shook her head. "I just can't believe everything is turning out so wonderfully!" Miriel cried, leaping to her feet. "If I hear any more good news, I think I shall just burst! Oh, Eowyn!"

Miriel rushed at the Princess and gave her a quick hug. When she looked up, she found a man whom she did not recognize standing in the doorway, watching them. Miriel paused and withdrew from Eowyn, and she felt suddenly shy.

"Hello," she tentatively greeted him.

"My lady," he answered courteously and bowed.

At the sound of the familiar voice, Eowyn whirled and a dazzling smile lit her face.

"Faramir!"

Miriel glanced at Faramir and saw that he was equally delighted to see Eowyn, and he quickly crossed the room to stand beside Eowyn. He lightly kissed her hand, and then turned his brilliant blue eyes upon Miriel expectantly.

"This is the Lady Miriel of Rohan," Eowyn announced. "She was adopted by my uncle, and is a princess of Edoras now, and therefore my sister."

"Lady Miriel!" exclaimed Faramir, raising his eyebrows in surprise and bowing. "Eowyn has told me much about you."

Miriel smiled at Faramir, and was filled with a genuine liking for the serious and handsome young man. Miriel could not have been happier for Eowyn.

Faramir had recently lost both his brother and his father, and he walked in a dark valley on a path similar to the one Miriel herself had recently traversed. Yet he bore it well. He was stern and quiet, but joy hovered just beneath the surface. Miriel perceived that healing had come not only to Eowyn through their love.

After a few polite words, Miriel curtseyed and left them alone. She walked out in search of Legolas and called to him. She knew he would not be far off.

She found him at last, standing at the wall of Minas Tirith with his hands clasped behind his back, shining like gold in the brilliant sunset. He was staring into the West, and his fair face was once again twisted in some indiscernible torment of mind.

Legolas turned and instantly exchanged his agonized look for a forced smile when he saw Miriel coming, but he was too late. Miriel had seen his pained expression, and the knowledge that something was definitely wrong burned in her heart.

She came close to him, and Legolas gathered her gently in his arms. Miriel tucked a stray lock of golden hair behind his pointed ear. She looked deep into his blue eyes and was surprised to find that they were misted over, as if Legolas were near tears.

"What is bothering you, mellon nin?" she asked quietly.

Legolas looked away and stared down absently over the wall, at the lands of Gondor that darkened under the dying sunlight, as if he were trying to come to a difficult decision. Miriel watched him anxiously. She sensed that an overwhelming burden rested upon his shoulders.

"If you only share it with me, we can bear whatever it is together," urged Miriel.

Legolas stood still and silent as if he had not heard. At length, he turned back to Miriel and smiled lovingly at her.

"I will tell you, my lady," Legolas promised. "But not now. The Shadow has fled and the night is over, and now is a time for joy and celebration. Let us not speak of sorrowful things just yet."

Miriel looked hard at Legolas, longing to argue the truth out of him, to press the issue until he relented. She knew she could. But something stopped her. Slowly she yielded to the intensity of Legolas's soft gaze. She sighed deeply and nodded.

Legolas appeared relieved, and he bent forward and placed a tender kiss on her brow. They stood together on the wall until the sky faded to black.


	16. THE CORONATION

THE CORONATION

The joyful days flew by. Miriel and Legolas grew noticeably radiant. They spent nearly every waking moment together, riding in the nearby forest, walking in the golden hills, wandering through Minas Tirith, standing upon the great wall or sitting by the fountain in the Citadel. Rolande hovered in the background and tried in vain not to stare.

Legolas and Miriel talked about everything. It seemed that nothing could dampen their spirits, but once in a while Legolas would sober and grow silent and look toward the West. Miriel could not guess the reason. She longed to know what was in the Elf's mind, but always she held herself back; for she knew Legolas would tell her when the time was right.

Four days after Miriel's arrival, the King's crowning ceremony was held. The whole of the city gathered together in the Citadel, in the Court of the Fountain. Miriel wandered alone among the throngs of people, looking up at the ribbons and banners fluttering in the breeze and breathing in the soft fragrance freely given by a thick carpet of flower petals that generously released a delightful scent when crushed beneath her feet.

When she had made her way through the crowds to the fountain, she gave a little gasp of surprise. The withered tree that had long stood beside the clear waters was gone, and a living white tree stood in its place, already flourishing and covered with delicate white blossoms.

Miriel looked around for Legolas, for she wanted to ask him what this might mean, but she could not find him anywhere. All the other members of the Fellowship of the Ring were there, even the Hobbits and the Dwarf Gimli, but Legolas alone could not be seen.

Suddenly the heralds blew a great blast on the trumpets, and Miriel looked toward the White Tower and beheld Gandalf standing on the steps, holding a golden winged crown in his hands. All the people went quiet, and the world stopped. The wind ceased to blow. It seemed as if the very air held its breath in expectation as Aragorn slowly came before the wizard, standing tall and abounding in wisdom and power, yet kneeling humbly on the steps. Gandalf set the crown lovingly upon Aragorn's head.

"Now come the days of the King!" Gandalf announced. "May they be blessed."

The spell burst, and the throngs exploded with cheers and jubilation as Aragorn stood triumphantly before them. Miriel shouted with the rest, knowing better than most what this moment meant to him, for she had heard a part of Aragorn's tale. This moment was the fulfillment of many long years of waiting and hard labors.

Aragorn paused until all was quiet, and then he burst into song, lending his own deep, rich voice to the same words that Elendil had spoken when he came out of the Sea, sailing out of the wreck of Numenor.

"Et Earello Endorenna utulien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta."

Although Miriel did not know the Elvish language, that famous phrase was known far and wide. Miriel's mother, Rowen, had heard it spoken at the court in Edoras, so Miriel knew what the words meant.

"Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world."

King Aragorn, who was now also called by his long-foretold Elvish name, Elessar, walked through the courtyard, and people bowed before him and offered congratulations. Miriel pushed her way to the front and found herself standing beside Eowyn, who was with Faramir. Miriel nudged her and Eowyn gave her a quick smile of recognition, but Eowyn swiftly returned her attention to the coming King.

Miriel bowed with Eowyn and Faramir as King Aragorn came and stood before them. King Aragorn acknowledged them all gratefully, but on the Lady Eowyn most of all his warm gaze rested. He turned away and moved to continue, but he stopped in his tracks.

Legolas stood in Aragorn's path with a look on his face that made Miriel's heart skip a beat. He seemed younger than ever, and as happy as the morning sunlight, and he greeted the King with bright spots of joy in his shining blue eyes.

Legolas clasped King Aragorn on the shoulder in Elven fashion, and they looked at one another, for this was the end of their long journey through the fire together. But there would never be an end of their great friendship, Miriel thought as she saw the look that passed between them.

"Hannon le," Aragorn said quietly. The way in which he spoke the seemingly inadequate words was somehow enough.

Legolas nodded in acknowledgment, but he was biting back a small smile. Then he stepped aside to reveal a host of Elves standing behind him.

The foremost Elf's face was filled with emotion. He was smiling, but tears glistened on his cheeks. He was a great Elven lord, and the wisdom of many years was upon his brow.

"Lord Elrond!" someone whispered in awe, and Miriel looked with fresh amazement on the Elf, whom she now knew was the legendary Lord of Rivendell.

Lord Elrond gazed at Aragorn, and then he swept back to make way for a woman clad in a shimmering green gown trimmed with satin, gold and lace. Miriel could not see her face, for the Lady was nearly hidden behind the white banner she carried. It was a great standard obviously wrought with special care, and upon the field of light there was the image of a white tree surrounded by seven jeweled stars, which was the symbol of Gondor. King Aragorn stood stock still as the Lady came toward him.

The Lady peered out from behind the standard, and Miriel gasped. The breathless throngs around her stared in awe. The Lady in green was beautiful far beyond the measure of any mortals. Her thick dark hair cascaded in shiny waves about her white shoulders, and her eyes were like stars. The woman handed the banner to someone, and Miriel could see that she was like a willow, soft and graceful, and yet strong and ageless. A circlet of green and gold gems wound about her forehead.

She stood still and silent before King Aragorn. King Aragorn was stunned, but the Lady was smiling. They looked at one another for a long moment, and a year of thought and feeling seemed to pass between them. Suddenly Aragorn rushed at the Lady and caught her in his arms and kissed her in the sight of all.

Another tremendous cheer erupted from the crowd, and Miriel shouted with them, but she felt like crying. This woman must have suffered greatly, as Miriel herself had done; separated from her true love during the dreadful war and wondering if she would ever see him again. But now at last that the work had been completed. The King and his bride were together in triumph and would never be parted.

King Aragorn took the Lady's hand in his and they continued up the path to the fountain, where the four Hobbits stood ready to greet him. Immediately the Halflings bowed low before the King and the Lady, but Aragorn took them by their hands and raised the Hobbits to their feet.

"My friends," he said quietly, looking lovingly at each of them. "You bow to no one."

Then to the surprise and confusion of the Hobbits Aragorn himself knelt before them, and the Lady at his side did likewise. Then all the city in its turn bent knee before the Ringbearer and his companions, who stood ill at ease with the blood rushing to their cheeks and their hands in their pockets.

At last the King passed from the Citadel. The people began to leave, chattering excitedly, for there would be a great feast to follow. But Miriel alone stood still and silent like a rock in the sea as the throngs swept past her. She was shaken with emotion, and she felt she could not join the celebration just yet. There had been too much pain and suffering and death that had been endured by uncountable multitudes in hopes that this glad age would one day arrive, even if they themselves did not live to see it. Most had paid the ultimate sacrifice for the peace of Middle-earth, and indeed very few were left to enjoy the victory. Miriel could not simply forget it and throw herself into the jubilee.

Miriel felt a hand on her shoulder as she wept, and she turned to find Legolas, who was still glowing with joy.

"Oh, Legolas," she cried, and threw herself into his arms.

"Come, my lady," Legolas said quietly. He pulled back and gently brushed away her tears. "Do not cry in this hour of victory!"

"But so much that was beautiful and good has been lost, and cannot be regained," murmured Miriel sorrowfully.

"Yes," agreed the Elf. "Nothing will go back to being the way it was before it was tainted by Shadow. The memory of darkness does not soon fade. But look at what good our sacrifice has bought!" Legolas waved his hand at the departing crowds, who sang and danced in the morning light as they left the courtyard. Happy children darted and flitted in and out among them like carefree little birds.

"It is not for ourselves, but for those who dwell in this land that we have done these things," continued Legolas. "All our sufferings were not in vain. The sun shines out the brighter, and we are free!"

As Miriel watched the rejoicing people, the black cloud slowly evaporated and vanished. Legolas held her and spoke quiet things to her until laughter burst from her heart like a fresh spring of clear water. A gust of wind washed over her and blew away her remaining tears.

"May their memory never fade," she whispered. "This day indeed belongs to those who are not now with us. They are the true heroes of our time."

Legolas smiled at her. He took Miriel's arm in his own and led her after the crowd.


	17. DOOM OF THE ELVES

DOOM OF THE ELVES

After that glorious day, Miriel noticed with growing concern that Legolas seemed more distant than ever. He spent less time with Miriel and wandered rather with the Elves who had come to the city escorting the Lady Arwen, the Elf who was the betrothed of King Aragorn.

At first Miriel thought that Legolas was only pleased to mingle with his own kindred, whom he had not seen in times of peace for many months. Even during the war Legolas had not been among his people since the dark night at Helm's Deep. But sometimes several days would go by before Miriel saw any sign of Legolas, and it soon became clear that Legolas would not purposefully come to her, and indeed avoided her whenever possible.

Eomer, Eowyn and Faramir visited Miriel seldom, for they were busy with affairs of Minas Tirith and were making preparations to return to Edoras to bury King Theoden. Gimli walked with Legolas once in a while, but mostly he ordered a group of Dwarves that had come out of the mountains and were forging new gates for the White City made of solid mithril silver. The four Hobbits were still recovering from their wounds, for all of them had been in some way hurt at one time or another during the war, and were rarely seen by anyone. Gandalf was overseeing the repairs to Minas Tirith and giving council in the King's court. King Aragorn was restoring order to Gondor, which was no small task. King Aragorn and Lady Arwen dwelt in perfect bliss, delighting in one another's company and looking to the day of their wedding with joy. They were unaware of the minor happenings of the world, for the most part.

Even Miriel's faithful Rolande did not come, for he assisted Eomer and Eowyn in the plans for the return trip. He had fallen in with the Guards of the City and was kept busy both night and day restoring the city and performing other various tasks. In all the hustle and bustle, Miriel felt utterly forgotten and was left alone.

Unlike the others, Miriel did not have a task to accomplish. She paced the walls and tried to catch a passing glimpse of Legolas by day. She ate very little and lost interest in her surroundings. Even though she was free to come and go as she pleased, Miriel stayed in her tower like a prisoner. Slowly she grew somber and sad.

Miriel tried to be patient and bear her concealed inner hurts bravely, and she told herself these things were temporary and would soon pass, and it would be magic between her and Legolas again. But her heart broke and wept silently within her, for deep down Miriel knew that something was very wrong.

When Legolas did come to Miriel, he never stayed long. Miriel greeted him with a joy that was not returned. Miriel noticed that his eyes were clouded, and a shadow passed over his face when they spoke. Miriel suffered tortured thoughts, wondering if this was her fault, if she had unwittingly hurt him in some way. But no matter how hard she tried she could think of nothing.

Often Legolas would fall silent and gaze into the West. Miriel felt uncomfortable around him and completely sundered from his heart, which was a bitter pain beyond anything Miriel had ever imagined. Legolas would not look her in the eye, and sometimes Miriel had the uneasy feeling that, in his mind, she had ceased to exist.

A long month of agonizing sleepless nights passed in this fashion, and each day was for Miriel as dark as death. At last she could stand it no more.

One bright afternoon, Miriel went down from her chamber and walked the busy streets of Minas Tirith in search of Legolas. She had to talk to him. She needed to know the truth. If she waited any longer, she was certain she would fade away and die.

Miriel looked all through the city until she found him at last, standing with a small company of Elves who were planting a green garden in a barren corner of Minas Tirith. Gimli was sitting on the ground not far away, smoking a pipe and observing the Elves as they worked, but his eyes were glazed over and he seemed bored and disinterested. Perhaps Dwarves were fascinated only by stone and things that glittered in the sun, thought Miriel as she smiled sympathetically down at him.

Legolas glanced up as Miriel approached and bowed rather stiffly, and he did not smile. A faint light of alarm shone in his face when he saw her expression.

"My lady," Legolas muttered, and he dithered a moment more while Miriel waited expectantly and said nothing. Then his blue eyes grew hard and determined, and he excused himself from the Elves and without a glance at Miriel he turned and strode away.

Miriel was caught off guard and for a second she was dumbfounded and speechless. Then she suddenly dashed after him.

"Where are you going?" she cried in a voice shrill with desperation as she ran.

Legolas whirled on her. "Just leave me alone!" snapped Legolas angrily. "Do you think I don't know why you've come?"

Miriel stopped in shock with her mouth open. Tears sprang to her eyes. She felt as if the Elf had just fired an arrow and pierced her through the heart.

Legolas glared at her for an instant more before turning and stalking off toward the stables.

The other Elves ceased working and stared, then glanced at one another as if they could not believe what Legolas had just said. Even Gimli dropped his pipe in surprise. The Dwarf had never seen Legolas behave like that toward anyone.

Legolas stopped at the same moment. Miriel saw his strong back sag and his shoulders droop. There was a long silence, and then Legolas sighed and slowly walked back to a trembling Miriel.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said quietly, and he was somewhat subdued. Miriel noticed that for the first time in many days he looked her steadily in the eye as he spoke.

Miriel nodded and bit her lip, bravely blinking back the hot tears. She did not trust herself to speak.

"I do know why you've come," Legolas continued in the same serious, deadpan tone. "We need to talk, and it is indeed long overdue. I'm going to the stables to saddle the horses. We will ride out together and talk in the shade of the forest."

Again Miriel nodded her consent. Legolas stared at her for a moment with concern before leaving her. She watched him go, and when she was alone she wiped away her tears and took several deep breaths to calm her shattered nerves and regain a measure of courage. Her mind was frozen numb, and she could not think what she might have said or done to provoke such an extreme response from him.

By the time Legolas arrived leading Kaspir and Arod, Miriel was quite composed outwardly, although on the inside Miriel was a boiling turmoil of emotion. Only the pain-filled expression in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Legolas gave her a swift boost onto her horse and stopped only to press her hand once before he leapt lightly aboard the gray, and they were off.

They cantered slowly through the city until they reached the gate, newly forged by the Dwarves of mithril silver and gleaming blinding white in the afternoon sun. Two guards swung the gate open before the oncoming riders, and without a word to them Miriel and Legolas passed through and immediately spurred their horses into a run.

It was a perfect cloudless day, and normally Legolas and Miriel would have paused to take in the breathtaking beauty of the lands of Gondor, but that day they gave no heed and pushed Kaspir and Arod to their fastest gallop instead. The black and the gray blurred together as they swept over the golden hills, bearing the Princess and the Elf swiftly toward the shadows of the trees. Both riders were of one mind to reach the forest at once, and the horses could not arrive quickly enough to suit them. For Miriel the journey seemed to last an eternity, even though the forest was so close that she could easily see its eaves from the lowest level of Minas Tirith.

At last the dark trees loomed before them, and without hesitation the horses plunged in and did not stop until they were deep inside its heart. Then Legolas pulled up and was on the ground in a single motion, and Miriel was right behind him. Leaving the horses to wander where they would, Legolas took Miriel by the hand and led her to a soft green hill abloom with carpets of snow-white flowers and surrounded by trees of fluorescent green.

The world was alive with color and the sweet music of spring. A single shaft of sunlight shone down upon them through the bright leaves, and from far off somewhere deep in the wood they could hear the gentle voice of a silvery stream gushing and singing freely as it wound its way through the trees. Tiny birds twittered merrily as they flitted among the treetops and sparkled like little blue and red jewels before they vanished from sight. A magnificent hart with huge curved antlers that arched over his graceful back started at Miriel and Legolas's sudden approach. He stood still as stone and stared at them unblinking before he danced away into the shadows.

Here, in this lovely place that at any other time would have stirred Miriel and Legolas both into a peaceful and contented silence, they stopped and faced one another. Legolas gathered Miriel's hands into his own, and looked deeply into her sad gray eyes. Time stood still. The moment of truth had come.

"First I want to apologize for avoiding you, Lady Miriel," Legolas began. "This was a matter I have not wanted to speak of, and dread to do so even now."

Miriel nodded in acknowledgement and waited for him to continue.

"I made you a promise when we parted at Helm's Deep, that when I returned I would never leave you. And it is a promise I mean to keep, no matter what," he added hastily, but a shadow passed over his fair face as he spoke. "But something has happened during the time we were separated that I did not expect, and it has torn my heart in two."

Miriel's eyes widened in horror, and the blood drained from her cheeks. Legolas caught her as she swayed, stricken and pale.

"You- you love another?" she stammered in a voice barely above a whisper.

Legolas's bright blue eyes blazed with a sudden fire.

"Never," he answered vehemently. "I could never love another like I love you, Lady Miriel, whether of the Eldar or of Man-kind."

Miriel recovered from her swoon and frowned in confusion. "Then what is it?" she asked.

Legolas held her, and his glance strayed longingly to the West, but he forced himself to look upon her.

"I have seen the Sea," he replied at last.

Miriel stared at him, not comprehending. "What?"

"We passed by the Sea when we left the Paths of the Dead," repeated Legolas.

Miriel shook her head. She did not understand what the Elf was saying.

"Is that all?" she cried in confusion. "All this… this ridiculous nonsense, simply because you beheld the Sea?"

Legolas swallowed hard and nodded. Miriel breathed in sharply and she felt suddenly like laughing hysterically.

"You've seen the Sea," Miriel repeated, and she could not restrain a wild grin.

"Yes," replied Legolas grimly.

Miriel chuckled, but she was vaguely disturbed. Legolas's odd words did not bring her any comfort, for he was very serious. But none of what Legolas was saying made any sense.

"Well, alright, so you've seen the Sea," said Miriel. She laughed nervously. "Er- what does this mean? I don't understand how the Sea could have affected our relationship. It's a big Sea, but it's not THAT big."

Legolas glanced up at her in surprise. Slowly light dawned in his eyes, and suddenly he smiled at Miriel. He reached up and gently swept Miriel's hair back from her face.

"I keep forgetting that you are not of Elven-kind, Lady Miriel," he said, touching the tips of her rounded ears. "Of course you couldn't possibly know what I'm talking about. Forgive me! I will explain to you now what all this means."

Miriel blew out a tremendous sigh. "I'm just glad it wasn't something I did," responded Miriel in great relief as she and Legolas sat upon the soft grass amid the wildflowers that grew as thick as snowdrifts upon the hill. "I thought you were angry with me."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Legolas, but he was laughing happily. "Definitely not!"

Miriel's spirits lifted. She felt that there was harmony between them once more, and that all suffering had passed away. Legolas was sitting beside her, laughing with her, one of her hands was safely in his; the sun was shining, and they were talking easier. Whatever difficulties they had yet to face didn't matter. They would tackle any problem together. There was no obstacle they couldn't overcome.

Then Legolas sobered and fell deep into thought. "How can I explain this?" he muttered to himself. Finally he turned to Miriel.

"To understand my predicament, you must first understand something more of the Elves," Legolas began. "My people are forest-dwellers and nature-lovers. We speak to the animals and the trees, and watch them grow and fade away under sun and moon. We are poets, and we sing about everything that is good and beautiful. We are very emotional, and that alone can cause us to make mistakes. Elves are immortal and have no fear of death, for death is not a normal part of our world. We can die of a broken heart, though, or, of course, by the sword. We live our lives in a kind of peaceful contentment and acceptance, and we love Middle-earth. But if, after hundreds or even thousands of years we grow weary of this place, we can take a ship and sail into the West, where there is a far land across the Sea prepared for us, where all my kindred dwell. When we reach the Undying Lands, as they are called, we will be reunited with our friends and family and remain together forevermore in perfect happiness."

Miriel nodded and settled deep into the soft grass as Legolas spoke, his clear voice rising and falling like silver and gold as he described far-off places and the lands of the Elves. For a fleeting moment Miriel found herself wishing she could one day go to Valinor, even though she knew it was impossible because she was a mortal. Miriel already knew most of what Legolas was telling her about the Undying Lands from stories that had been passed down for generations among the townsfolk in Rohan. But Miriel had never heard it told with such eloquence or feeling before, and she was held enchanted and spellbound by the images his words brought to her mind.

"While they remain in the forest, Elves know no better happiness. But buried deep in the soul of every Elf there lies a sleeping desire that is perilous to stir, for once it has awakened it will never be silent. It is a longing for the Sea. The white-capped waves shattering like crystal upon the rocky shore, the gulls crying and wailing mournfully against the golden skies and telling any who will listen about what lies beyond, and the sun sinking like a blazing ball of fire beyond the western horizon is too much for any Elf to endure.

"The Sea calls to us. One single glance at the Sea, and an Elf's heart will never rest in Middle-earth again."

Miriel's eyes had been widening as Legolas spoke, and she sat bolt upright. Legolas stared at her sorrowfully and bowed his head.

"Yes, my lady, you guess correctly. That terrible desire has been stirred." Legolas stared far away into the dark eaves of the forest, searching the gloom with his keen Elven eyes. "I have seen the Sea and it has called my name. My heart in the forest will dwell no more."

Miriel was in shock. She opened her mouth to reply, and nothing came out but a strangled squeak. Tears rushed to her eyes and poured over her cheeks in tiny waterfalls. Miriel struggled to maintain herself, but she couldn't breathe. Suddenly she fell forward amid the white flowers in a dead faint.


	18. DIFFICULT DECISIONS

DIFFICULT DECISIONS

"Miriel! Miriel!"

The urgent call came from afar, as if from a distant dream. Miriel slowly opened her eyes to find the blue skies shining overhead, and the even brighter blue of Elf eyes looking down upon her. She was confused and disoriented, and she couldn't remember how she got there. She frowned. Her head pulsed with pain.

"Where am I?" Miriel muttered, not recognizing the strangely choked and distorted sound of her own voice.

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Miriel speak. He did not answer, but he gently raised Miriel off the ground and pillowed her head in his lap. As he did so, Miriel caught sight of the white flowers waving about them and dancing gaily in the breeze, and at once memory came flooding back to her. Miriel shut her eyes and softly began to cry.

Legolas gazed down at her with pity, and he reached down and cradled her in his arms, trying to comfort her. But Legolas was also himself distressed beyond words.

The Elf and the princess did not move for a long time. The sun blazed its fiery trail into the West and burned the sky orange, and the world turned without them and left them far behind. They said nothing, for there were no words left to speak.

Only when the sunset began to fade to a golden twilight did Legolas stir at last. He lifted Miriel until she was sitting upright on her own. Miriel's sobs were silent, and her eyes were tightly closed, but her tears ever poured down and fell like shining silver upon the green grasses of the hill.

"Don't cry, my lady," whispered Legolas as he sat beside her.

"I can't help it," replied Miriel without opening her eyes. "I love you."

"And I love you," declared Legolas.

"But you're going away," cried Miriel brokenly. "You're going to sail across the Sea. I'm going to die."

"No, my lady, don't say that," comforted Legolas, taking her hand. "You will not die. I'm not leaving you."

Miriel did not look up, but neither did she pull her hand away.

"Why not, Legolas? You have to."

"I made you a promise," Legolas answered.

Miriel was silent for a while. Tears streamed down her pale face.

"I would release you from that promise, if it would give you peace," she said at last, but her lips trembled and her words faltered.

Legolas looked at her in puzzlement. "But I- don't you want me to be here with you?" he asked.

"Of course I do," rejoined Miriel instantly. "But what kind of love keeps one in a cage as a captive?"

"I would hardly call it a cage," said Legolas, taken aback. "Any man lucky enough to be loved by you would be a fool to call himself caged."

Miriel stared blankly into the depths of the darkening wood and did not seem to heed his words.

"I will die," she murmured at last. "It is the path that I must follow. I have cheated it so far, but now it comes for me, and I cannot avoid it any longer. It is my destiny. Death will take me sooner or later, and whether it comes swiftly or late does not matter."

"Say not so!" cried Legolas in alarm. "Stop talking like that!"

Miriel fell silent. She felt suddenly very old and weary with sorrow. She stood up slowly and heaved a great sigh that fell heavy in the gathering darkness. Legolas leapt lightly to his feet with the Elven-grace that came habitually to him and took her hand. His mind was made up, and he spoke with conviction.

"I won't leave Middle-earth, and that's final!" he declared.

Miriel looked at him through bleary eyes.

"But you would remain here only for me," she returned without emotion.

"Of course!" returned Legolas indignantly. "Why else would I stay?"

"You should not," replied Miriel wearily.

"Why not?" snapped Legolas.

"Because sooner or later I will die, and then you will be alone," answered Miriel, and her voice went deadpan.

Legolas gripped her by the shoulders. "Then so be it," he said. "I love you, and if I must endure loneliness and death to be with you, it is but a small price to pay."

Miriel shook her head. "You have to go, Legolas, you must," she insisted, still shaking her head, and a fresh storm of tears dropped from her cheeks.

"No! I won't! Miriel, listen to me!" Legolas gently took her chin in his hand and lifted her face so that her sad gray eyes met his. "Sailing over the Sea will not be the answer, my love. I would suffer eternally from a broken heart, even in the beautiful land of Valinor, even among my kinfolk. The West would become a prison of its own. I see that clearly now. I love you, Lady Miriel, and I will die without you."

Unlike Rolande's impassioned version of the same phrase, Miriel fully believed that Legolas spoke the truth.

"Then we will die together, for that is the only fate that awaits us," answered Miriel darkly.

"There are far worse fates," replied Legolas, and he bent and tenderly kissed her brow. "My fate was sealed the moment I laid eyes on you."

"I wish you never had," whispered Miriel.

"But I don't," Legolas retorted. "My life would be empty without you. I would have never known what I missed. I have no regrets."

"You say that now," said Miriel, her breath coming shorter as tears choked her. "But when I am gone you will regret your words."

"Never," Legolas declared, and his voice was as cold and steely as mithril.

Miriel did not answer. There was nothing she could say in the face of such determination, the same determination that had brought the realm of Mordor to its knees. The golden skies faded to royal blue, and the stars came out to shine on them.

"Come, my lady, we must return to the city," said Legolas, but he stood gazing tenderly at Miriel and did not move. Suddenly he rushed at Miriel and took her face in his hands, and Miriel looked up at him questioningly. Before she rightly knew what was happening Legolas had her ensconsed in his arms and was leaning down and kissing her tenderly, then passionately, his fingers settling deep into her thick hair.

Miriel gave in to the warm embrace. She let go of her resistance. It felt so right to kiss Legolas, and she wanted the moment to last forever. Oh, the tingling that enveloped her from head to foot! The fire that blazed in her heart! The increasing strength of his hold around her! The sheer ecstacy of being close to him! She heard the sound of the Elves singing joyfully in the twilight, and wind swirled around them. Their hair, ebony and golden, streamed upward and mingled together. The voice of her common sense was shoved aside and silenced; she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all her might as his hands slipped down her back and pulled her ever closer, ever tighter, into his chest.

But even as Miriel allowed herself to be swept away by a tide of emotion, the thought of the Sea and the terrible decision looming over them yet held her back. As desperately as she wanted to tear down every obstacle between them, as much as she longed to tell herself that nothing should separate them and keep her out of his arms, she could not; her great love for him stopped her short. Already she had blinded herself to the consequences for far too long. Her common sense resurfaced. She reluctantly but firmly shook her head to release the grip of his kiss on her, and after another moment, she pulled away from his arms and stood apart from Legolas.

"We must be getting back," she forced herself to say, but her voice cracked and she did not look at him. She was afraid that if she did, she would betray how much she wanted to be with him, to let him hold her, to love him and receive his love in return, to whisper promises that she would never leave him and listen to her name breathed into her ear on his adoring lips… but no, no, it could not be. It could never be. It was a beautiful fantasy, a delightful illusion; but a mirage that would melt away as she reached out to take hold of it and it would leave her emptier than before she gave in. She set her jaw and refused. It took an act of steeling of herself that was almost impossible. She shut off her feelings and concealed her inner turmoil beneath a coldly indifferent exterior.

Legolas hesitated a moment longer and warred with himself. He sensed that she might yet be persuaded to marry him; he could see that the coldness was feigned and the hardening of her heart nothing more than a facade. The way she kissed him confirmed that. There was no question she loved him, but he wanted her to come to him willingly… and she would, were it not an entire sea that separated them. He studied her thoughtfully while he decided what to do. At last he nodded.

"As you wish, my lady," he murmured quietly, but there was a determined light in his eyes that troubled Miriel to behold. They spoke volumes in a language all their own; they told her in no uncertain terms that this was far from over; this reprieve was merely that: A temporary truce. That frightened her. She was losing her will to stay strong and succombing to a force too great for her to overcome.

She was weak, and how she hated being weak! She scowled at the ground.

Legolas took Miriel by the hand and led her to the edge of the forest, whistling loudly as he did so. Immediately there was an answering neigh and the sound of approaching hooves. Arod appeared shining like silver with Kaspir running right behind him like a shadow. Legolas set Miriel upon Kaspir's back and mounted Arod. They rode without speaking toward Minas Tirith with a cold wind blowing in their faces.

The city was aglow with candles and torches by the time they arrived. They passed silently through the gates, and the hooves of the horses fell heavily upon the stones as they made their way to the stables. Miriel slid down quickly from Kaspir's back before Legolas would have a chance to help her. She slipped the reins over her horse's head, and in an instant Legolas was there and his hand was on hers as he took Kaspir's lead. Miriel trembled at the touch, and for a moment she glanced up at him and found the intensity of his gaze too great to withstand. She hurriedly looked away and found she could not breathe.

"I will not change my mind, Lady Miriel," he said quietly.

"Neither will I," she could barely whisper.

Legolas did not move. "I hold to my word. I will remain in Middle-earth until the end of our days together."

Miriel bit her lip and struggled against the sobs that rushed to her throat.

"I hope you will not," she muttered coldly, and turning she ran blindly in the direction of her tower with her cloak fluttering wildly behind her in her haste.

Legolas stood and watched her go and made no move to stop her, but had she turned and looked back, the terrible and overwhelming longing in his overbright blue eyes would have been more than enough to destroy her resolve and seal both their fates.

Miriel stumbled into her room. Wearily she lifted her hand and unclasped the silver brooch at her throat, letting the cloak drop freely from her shoulders. It puddled around her ankles. Miriel impatiently stepped out of the tangled ring of gray cloth and went out to the balcony, leaving the cloak on the floor where it had fallen.

Miriel allowed the tears to flow unchecked. She hated Love, Miriel thought, clenching her fists. It was unbearably cruel to her, but infinitely more so to Legolas. What had started out as a wartime attraction had hardened into permanent and undying love. Miriel struggled to still her sobs and stared up at the gleaming stars shining like diamonds in the endless skies, her mind full of unanswerable questions.

Miriel had always believed that there was one right person for everyone. She had been a strong believer in Destiny and Fate since she had dwelt in Rohan, living a sheltered life with her family. Ever since she had grown old enough to care, Miriel had known that she did not love anyone in her little village. There had been times when she despaired of ever finding her own Prince Charming.

But from the moment Miriel met Legolas in the midst of the battle at Helm's Deep, she felt her soul stir. She knew immediately that Legolas was the one she had been searching for. There was no denying that they belonged to each other. Miriel knew it like she knew the sun would rise in the morning, or that there would always be a spring after a long winter. It simply was.

But now Miriel questioned herself. She wondered if she was wrong about Fate and Destiny. Or was she desperately hoping she was wrong?

She refused to ponder that in case she discovered an answer she didn't want to find.

Everything Miriel had once believed in was being shaken to the core. She didn't know what to think.

"True love is the most precious thing anyone can hope to obtain in this life," came the sweet, musical voice of her mother, Rowen, borne to Miriel's ears on a silvery breeze from the deep mists of time. In an instant, Miriel was transformed into the young girl she had once been, which now seemed so very long ago. She was taken back to that last precious moment she had shared with her mother, kneeling by the glowing hearth, surrounded by the rich, hearty aroma of a beef stew. Rowen's face flickered with orange light from the fire as she smiled at Miriel and imparted her wisdom and experience to her daughter.

"True love is worth far more than prosperity or riches or gold or silver, or even life itself."

"But it is not love to doom another to a life of loneliness, and an unnatural death!" Miriel argued aloud.

Miriel could almost see Rowen raising her eyebrows at Miriel in mild reproach.

"Love does not always make sense, Miriel, and do remember that."

"Sometimes sense can save you from making grave mistakes!" Miriel shouted with unbridled fury at the vision from the past.

"When you find it, give up everything to obtain it!"

"Easy for you to say!" Miriel cried to the empty skies. "Yours was the choice between a peasant life and a palace life. Mine is the choice of life or death, and not for myself, but for another!"

"..Even life itself," Rowen echoed. "Even life itself..."

"NO!"

Miriel turned away seething and shut the images out of her mind, dashing away the hot tears with the back of her hand. She sought another string of thoughts to drive out the painful picture of her mother's face.

Legolas's earlier words about Elves began to come back to her, and without quite knowing why Miriel found herself reflecting on them. Elves were very emotional and could make mistakes, Legolas had said. Miriel frowned up at the glittering star host. Perhaps Legolas would make a mistake by allowing his heart to rule over his head. But Miriel would not, for both their sakes.

She thought: _He is doing this for me. He is afraid that if he leaves, I will be unhappy. He is so good and caring and thoughtful, and he really does love me so much that he doesn't want to see that happen._

_I was strong enough to be alone once,_ Miriel told herself sternly, clenching her fists. _I got along fine without anyone else. I can do it again. I must._

But what could Miriel do with Legolas now? He had promised to stay in Middle-earth, and it seemed that nothing would change his mind. What was it that he told her? She tried to recall, and at last it came back to her.

"Any man lucky enough to be loved by you would be a fool to call himself caged." The words resonated in her thoughts. Miriel repeated them slowly to herself.

Suddenly she caught her breath, and her gray eyes flew wide open. Therein was the answer to all their problems!

Miriel's mind raced. It was a drastic measure, to be sure, but Legolas's life and happiness depended upon it, and Miriel herself would become accustomed to the arrangement in time. If she were settled and happy here in Middle-earth, Legolas could sail away without feeling guilty about leaving her behind. Legolas's ardent speech had provided the only way out of the tangled mess of heartstrings and emotions called Love, and Miriel was determined to take it and make the most of it.

Her plan had to work. She would not fail.

Miriel rushed away from the balcony and back to her room. She washed her face. She changed into a fresh white dress and left her dark cloak behind. She carefully arranged her thick black hair in lush curls about her shoulders, and at last she was ready.

Miriel went down from the tower and walked alone on the empty streets of Minas Tirith, moving quickly like a gleam of white fire in the night. She went straight to the Housing of the Guards and knocked softly on the door of one of the rooms. She waited impatiently and knocked again. At last, after an eternity, Rolande opened the door and Miriel found herself looking searchingly into his brown cat's eyes, which lit up in great delight to see her.

"Lady Miriel!" he exclaimed in surprise, and then he remembered his manners and bowed. "What a pleasant surprise! Please, come in!"

"Thank you," Miriel returned with a quiet smile that was almost shy.

Miriel was heartened by this warm reception. It filled her with new courage… enough to do what she had come to do, and she stepped inside and surveyed the bare room to distract herself from her mission. It was plain, all wood and stone and shades of tan and brown and gray without so much as a cheery sprig of greenery or red berries to brighten the simple room, but it was well furnished and comfortable. Fire shadows danced on the walls where they were not lit by the warm golden-orange glow of the fire. Rolande shut the door behind her and moved to a table.

"Would you like anything to drink, my lady?" he asked, picking up a silver pitcher.

Miriel gracefully declined and sat down near the fire; she was far too nervous to consider putting anything in her uneasy stomach. Rolande filled his own cup and sat down in a wooden chair across from her. Miriel asked polite questions about how things were going with him and the Guards of the City, and Rolande answered that they were quite well. They made small talk for a while. But at length, and too soon, they ran out of things to say to one another and sat silently while the flames crackled and snapped loudly like Miriel's nerves in the sudden quiet.

"I have not seen you for a while, Lady Miriel," said Rolande at length, looking at her searchingly. "Are you doing well?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Miriel rather stiffly, but she tried to smile.

"Good, good," Rolande muttered, but his brown cat's eyes remained fixed upon hers.

_He suspects something, _Miriel thought with trepidation. He would. He knew her too well.

"So to what or whom do I owe this unexpected visit?" Rolande prodded.

Miriel caught her breath sharply. The moment had arrived, but the words would not come. Her throat was too tight to speak. The ever-perceptive Rolande watched her closely while she tried to remove the constriction from her breathing.

"I just wanted to see how you were getting on," Miriel blurted out lamely. Immediately she bit her lip. Why was she so hesitant to tell Rolande what she had come to tell him?

"How are things between you and the Elf?" Rolande asked pointedly.

Miriel knew he could see the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes and was not fooled by smiles or light words. The sooner she got this overwith, the better. Miriel steeled herself and pictured the face of Legolas, the one she loved and whom she was doing this for, and she bravely launched headfirst into a speech.

"Rolande, Legolas and I cannot remain together. It would never have worked out between us, for simple reasons. I am mortal. He is of Elf-kind. He belongs over the Sea with his people. But my place is here in Middle-earth, among my own kindred."

Rolande turned away and gazed into the fire. Miriel's mind raced and she could not tell what he was thinking, but she guessed he was shocked. Miriel wondered hopefully that he would consider this as good news for himself and a happy turn of events. Miriel gathered her courage and continued. She spoke haltingly, and her words tumbled over one another with forced emotion and terrific haste.

"Rolande, you remember that talk we had that night under the stars of Rohan? When you told me you loved me and would never leave my side? I refused you then and sent you away brokenhearted. Of course I was waiting for Him then, you know," she finished awkwardly.

Rolande's expression did not change. Miriel hesitated, her mouth open and the words on the tip of her tongue, but for a moment she could not make a sound. Then she closed her eyes.

"_For you, Legolas."_

Miriel took a deep breath and spoke in a sudden rush.

"I have repented of my words. I am ready to go with you. I- I love you, Rolande."


	19. ROLANDE'S CHOICE

ROLANDE'S CHOICE

Rolande did not look at her, but Miriel perceived that he trembled and tears were on his cheek. At length he spoke.

"You were right, Lady Miriel," he said quietly without turning around.

"About what?" asked Miriel with an edge in her voice. She felt oddly impatient with him. She wanted to hurry and get this over with.

"About us," Rolande answered. He took a deep breath and faced her. Miriel was surprised at the expression in his eyes. They were full of pain, but in the brown depths dwelt a cold courage and a catlike determination.

"Speak plainer!" snapped Miriel. "I can't understand you, and I am in no mood for frivolous riddles."

"Since you cannot have Legolas, you would settle for me," Rolande answered boldly.

"That's ridiculous!" Miriel burst out.

"Is it?" asked Rolande plaintively, eyeing her without flinching.

"I hardly think you are in any position be saying that I'm settling for anyone!" returned Miriel hotly. "What makes you think you know my heart?"

"Watching you these last few days, I have learned what true love is," Rolande replied steadily. "Seeing you and Legolas together has been, for lack of any other term, perfection. There is no other way to describe it. You and the Elf were made for each other. I would take you in a heartbeat, Lady Miriel, and you know this, or you would not have come. And now you say you would have me. But it would not be the same."

"How do you know that?" demanded Miriel indignantly. "What do you know of love?"

Rolande lowered his eyes, and Miriel was struck once more by his hurt expression.

"Almost nothing, it's true," he admitted. "But I know enough to tell you that this is not right. I love you, Lady Miriel, and I always will, but it will not be the same kind of love that the Elf bears for you, or you for him. Your affection for me will never match the deep feeling you have in your heart for him. Even you know this."

"But in time-" began Miriel.

"Yes, in time our love would grow," Rolande interrupted. "But even after a lifetime I think it would still be only a shadow of what you and Legolas have right now. With all due respect, Lady Miriel, you're crazy to think that you'll ever find a love like that anywhere else. Later on, you will regret your decision."

"No, I won't," retorted Miriel.

"Even if I could lay aside my honor and take you now, Miriel, it would not be the same," Rolande went on with the same cold determination in his eyes that Miriel had seen in Legolas' only a short time ago. "I cannot betray you, or that Elf out there who loves you; nor can I betray myself."

Miriel could not argue with him, but she would not give in.

"Do you not betray me now by refusing me?" Miriel demanded.

Rolande could not argue with her either; she was far stronger than he. He shook his head with stubborn finality.

"I'm very sorry, my lady. I cannot fulfill your request."

Miriel turned away angrily, stung to the quick. She knew Rolande was right, and that made her even more furious. She was desperate. The one solution to her terrible dilemma was fading fast.

Miriel's chin shook and hot tears sprang to her eyes. She was mad at Rolande for not being the easy answer to her problem. She was angry that she had come and risked her heart to ask him this. How dare he say he did not love her! When only a short time ago, Rolande had told her otherwise. Indeed, his very words had been that he would die without her!

Miriel rose to leave, and Rolande did not stop her. She paused and glanced back at him. He looked very small and helpless, sitting near the roaring flames and gazing at her. Orange light flickered over his troubled face.

"Love does not always make sense, my lady," he advised quietly, echoing Miriel's mother's words from long ago without knowing it. "Please try to remember that."

Miriel's face worked and twisted in anger. She could not stand to remain a moment more. She lunged for the door, flung it open and slammed it after her, leaving Rolande staring blankly into the fire.

Miriel raced up the dark streets, tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste. She stumbled up the endless flight of stone steps and plunged into her room. Miriel threw herself across the bed and wept the last of her tears onto the unheeding pillows.

Time passed. When she had recovered a little, Miriel sat up and gazed dejectedly at the black night sky. Nothing was going right. She had been accepted by one she could not have and rejected by one felt she must choose, even if he were her second choice. Miriel knew that Legolas would not leave Middle-earth now, and he would pursue her endlessly until she gave in.

_But I will not,_ thought Miriel determinedly. She clenched her jaw. _That Elf was too stubborn for his own good,_ she mused. But Miriel did not know what she would have to do to convince Legolas to sail into the West.

Most of all Miriel wrung her hands at her own shortsightedness. Why had she not accepted Rolande's offer the moment it had been given? Why had she risked everything for an Elf, who belonged with his people over the Sea, when she could have had the love of this good man? Why had she dared to reach for something she could not have, even when she knew in her heart that Legolas could not belong to her? Did she not know when to quit?

Now her ill-fated decision had lost her both men.


	20. A LONGAWAITED WEDDING

A LONG-AWAITED WEDDING

Three weeks passed. Spring gave way to summer, and the land flourished under the rule of King Aragorn. Legolas came to visit Miriel every day, but their roles were reversed; for now Miriel was the one who was cold and distant. She was never unkind, but she closed her heart to Legolas and locked away its secrets. Miriel spoke little, but she continued pleading with Legolas. She tried urgently to convince him that sailing into the West was the right thing to do. But Legolas would not hear of it.

He brought Miriel small gifts, and when he could not come himself, he sent messengers with loving notes written in Legolas's beautiful Elvish script. The words he used on those tiny sheets of parchment brought tears to Miriel's eyes, and she had to sit down before reading them. Once Legolas picked a bouquet of white flowers from the wood and sent them to her, and at the sight of the snowy blooms the memory of the Elf's tender kiss came rushing back to Miriel. Her cheeks flooded pink, but Miriel graciously accepted the flowers from the young page and said nothing.

Miriel paced dismally in her tower and wept often when she was alone. She knew it was only a matter of time before her iron resolve gave way.

In the meantime, the common folk were blissfully unaware of the painful drama taking place within their own walls. They were caught up in other affairs. The White City prepared for a second joyous celebration, for Mid-Year's Day was nearly upon them and the King Aragorn and Lady Arwen would be married in a week. Once more Minas Tirith abounded with ribbons and banners and flowers. King Aragorn and the Lady Arwen were glowing with joy. They also had perfect love between them, and it pierced Miriel's heart when she saw them together so that she had to look away.

Mid-Year's Day arrived at last. The city waited anxiously for nightfall and a great feast was prepared. Miriel watched from her wall, but she did not join the early festivities. She wanted to be alone as long as possible, but she knew she was expected to attend the wedding as a Princess of Rohan and could not refuse.

That evening Miriel dressed in a white gown and set a circlet of gold on her brows. Legolas arrived to escort her down. He was arrayed once more in fine satins, and a silver band wound about his forehead.

"You look like a queen tonight, more than ever, Lady Miriel," said Legolas. "You are beautiful." He stooped and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you," returned Miriel, looking into his blue eyes. "You seem like a prince. You always seem like a prince, Legolas. Why is that?"

"Because I am," Legolas answered seriously.

Miriel blinked and gave a nervous laugh.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," Legolas replied, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. "I assumed you knew, or that someone would have told you by now. My father is Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood."

"Oh," said Miriel, and she fell silent.

Legolas smiled and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Miriel nodded and took his elbow. As Legolas led her down from the tower toward the Citadel, Miriel marveled once more at how right it felt to be standing at his side. Immediately she bit her lip and clamped down on her emotions, but it was too late. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy by the time they arrived together in the courtyard.

The wedding lasted a short time, but its impact far outweighed its duration. In a way, Miriel mused, it did not seem right that a ceremony binding two hearts to one another until the ending of the world should be so brief.

King Aragorn and Arwen Undomiel were silhouetted against a dark sky with all the stars flowering behind them. The light of love shone brightly in their eyes as they pledged their vows to one another. It seemed as if they stood together on the brink of eternity with all of heaven before them, and the hosts of angels watching in awe. A hush fell over the crowd. It was magic taking place before their very eyes.

Miriel was overwhelmed with emotion, and she unknowingly laid her head on Legolas's shoulder. Legolas placed his hand over Miriel's, which rested gently on his arm, and Miriel did not pull away.

Afterwards there was a great feast. When it was over, there were countless toasts and well-wishes to the King and Queen, and songs and tales from all over Middle-earth told by seemingly endless hosts of bards and minstrels, and the hour grew very late.

At last Miriel was too exhausted and full of food and Rivendell's miruvor to take any more entertainment. She excused herself to retire in her tower, and Legolas stood up immediately and joined her. They left the pavilion arm in arm, and the sight that met them on the streets of Minas Tirith made Miriel stop and stare.

Singing filled the air, and there was dancing in the streets that were lit with so many torches it seemed as bright as midday. As Miriel stood looking everywhere at once in her wonder, Legolas suddenly took her by the waist and swept her into the middle of it and swung her among the dancers. Miriel was caught by surprise.

"Legolas, wait-" she began.

"No buts!" Legolas shouted above the noise, twirling her. "Come on!"

Miriel felt a wild laugh bubbling up inside, and she could not contain it. It suddenly burst out of her.

"Come on!" insisted Legolas.

Miriel's heart warned her against it, but Miriel hesitated only a moment before she threw herself into the middle of the revelry. She yielded willingly to Legolas's gentle pull and danced up the street with the Elf. His hand gently guided her waist and her hand rested in his, and his merry blue eyes entranced her; he was communicating something without words in Elven-fashion that Miriel could not rightly read through her mind, but which her emotions and her heart understood perfectly. Her dress swirled around her, and the other dancers blended into a shapeless whirl of color as they were surrounded by the music of the King's minstrels and lost themselves in it. Miriel's hair came loose from her crown and flew about her face like curly strands of shadow and gold in the firelight. Together Legolas and Miriel rushed up the streets until they were laughing and breathless.

They reached the tower and went up the stone steps to Miriel's wall, where it was quiet. But the sound of continuing merriment drifted up from below, and the golden light of dozens of torches brightened the skies. Miriel and Legolas stood together with the wind blowing softly in their faces, watching contentedly. Legolas took Miriel's hand and broke the silence.

"When will you relent and become my queen, Lady Miriel?" he asked gently.

At once Miriel paled and sighed, and pain rushed into her eyes and stole away their brilliance.

"We have had this same discussion a dozen times a day for weeks," Miriel replied wearily. "Always my answer has been the same. I would be your queen in a heartbeat, Legolas, where the situation a little different."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You are an Elf. I am a mortal." Miriel shrugged. "It's that simple."

"That does not matter!" insisted Legolas.

"We cannot help being who we are," Miriel answered.

Legolas pointed downward at the city below, at the pavilion where the King and new Queen were sitting and enjoying the wedding feast.

"Look at the Lady Arwen," said Legolas. "She has made the same decision I would make, and she is happy. King Aragorn granted it full willing, even knowing well the consequences. Miriel, why will you not give in? Do you not truly love me?"

"It is because I love you that I do not consent to this," replied Miriel. "You will be very unhappy here in Middle-earth after I am gone."

"Don't you think I should be the one to make that decision?" asked Legolas with an edge in his voice.

"You are destined to sail away to Valinor."

"My destiny is here with you!" Legolas declared.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" cried Miriel hotly, frowning in her turn. "To have true love at my side and refuse it? To have to shut my eyes and heart to it, when it is offered to me freely? I die a thousand deaths every day, and I have drowned my pillow in sorrow each night! It is a miracle that I yet live! Please, I beg you to speak no more of it!"

Miriel turned sharply away from him, and they stood silently on the wall. The music below stopped suddenly and there was a rush of applause. Then the minstrels began to play a slower tune, and the melancholy notes drifted to the Elf and the Princess on the silvery breeze.

"I will go back to Edoras soon," announced Miriel quietly.

Legolas looked at her, surprised at the change in her demeanor. "When?"

"I think Eomer and Eowyn wish to depart in a week's time," she replied with a soft sigh. "I will go with them. We will bury King Theoden, and there is still much work to be done in the rebuilding of Rohan. They… they need me," she added feebly.

The air around them grew tense. Miriel found it hard to breathe. She quickly stole a glance at Legolas and saw that his expression was troubled and sad. Legolas did not meet her gaze and continued staring deep into the celebrating crowds below, and she too looked away. Then he spoke, but his voice was toneless.

"And you won't be coming back." It was a statement rather than a question.

Miriel's quavering breath could be heard in the stillness. "No."

Legolas drew himself up tall, and at once Miriel sensed him grow distant, as if he had erected a steel barrier between them.

"I see," he said through clenched jaws. "So you have chosen."

There was quiet, and then suddenly Legolas pounded his fist on the stone wall. Miriel gasped and stepped back in fear. But there was no fury in the Elf's action, only heartwrenching sorrow. Miriel's heart broke and she reached for him.

"Legolas, I- I'm sorry," faltered Miriel, but Legolas turned his back on her.

"Well, good night," muttered the Elf over his shoulder, and he walked away.


	21. A BETROTHAL AND A FUNERAL

A BETROTHAL AND A FUNERAL

It was precisely one week later when Miriel found herself mounted on Kaspir one bright morning at the gate of Minas Tirith, preparing to depart with Eomer, Eowyn, Rolande, and the Rohirrim riding beside her. Gandalf and his horse Shadowfax waited, patient and regal, gleaming too brightly to look upon for long without sunspots affecting the vision of the beholder. King Aragorn was on a white horse, and Queen Arwen was at his side on a gray palfrey, for they would go to the funeral of King Theoden. Faramir, Steward of Gondor, was also among the sortie.

Rolande was with the Riders of Rohan. He did not even look at her, and Miriel fancied he felt a distain for her that bordered on disgust. That hurt, too; he had been her friend and brother and now, when she needed him, he coldly turned his back on her.

At the last moment the four Hobbits came out riding on ponies, each arrayed like Halfling lords, Miriel thought. One was clad in the green colors of Rohan, and another wore the White Tree of Gondor on his armor. The others were Frodo, who was the Ringbearer himself, and his loyal servant Sam who accompanied him.

A great crowd had come out to say their goodbyes. In all the noise and confusion, Miriel sat silent and alone upon Kaspir. She felt grateful for her cloak, for she felt it hid her and her feelings to some extent, and she had drawn the hood low over her face. The people around her seemed to have forgotten that she existed. Once in a while Miriel raised her eyes and looked for Legolas among the throngs, but he did not come.

At last everyone was ready. The horses stomped and chaffed impatiently at their bits, eager to get underway. Then the gates swung open, and there was a tremendous shout as they set off. Beyond the great silver doors the far horizon unfolded, full of distant gold hills and deep green valleys. Miriel could not bear to behold such beauty in her terrible sadness, and she lowered her eyes.

Suddenly Miriel heard the sound of clattering hooves behind her and heard a wild whinny. Turning, Miriel saw another white horse come galloping after them, rearing in the gateway in his haste and excitement. It was Arod, gleaming snow-white in the afternoon sun, and he bore Legolas and Gimli together as ever. A great host of fair Elves came behind them, ageless and beautiful with a soft sparkling light surrounding them. They were magical.

But Miriel hardly noticed the other Elves. She had eyes for only one Elf. Miriel felt a smile of joy creep unbidden over her face, and when the expression was returned by Legolas, Miriel immediately became self-conscious. She quickly turned away and sent Kaspir surging ahead. But Miriel looked back at Legolas despite herself, and her silver-gray eyes were shining like stars from within the darkness of her hood.

The company passed beyond the gate of the White City, and although the horses wanted to run, they waited patiently for a word from their masters. The Kings of Gondor and Rohan, Aragorn and Eomer, led the procession with Frodo and Sam, and then came Gandalf. Pippin rode in the company of the knights of Gondor. Faramir and Eowyn rode and spoke together in quiet whispers. Miriel and Rolande rode directly behind them, and then came Legolas and Gimli on one horse. The Rohirrim followed, lifting high a great banner and bearing the golden bier of King Theoden. Merry, the last Hobbit, was also among them and remained near King Theoden's side, for Merry had been Theoden's esquire.

Miriel turned and looked back at Minas Tirith one last time as it disappeared in the distance. She would never see the great White City again.

During the whole trip, Miriel found herself constantly glancing back at Legolas and had to work hard to restrain herself. Once in a while she relented and allowed Kaspir to walk beside Arod, but Miriel and Legolas spoke little. Just being together was enough for the time being. If they had searched deep enough, they would have found they were afraid to talk because of what they might say to one another. Thus they were content with meaningless nonsense or complete silence.

On the evening of the third day, when they stopped to make camp, Miriel had barely dismounted and settled her pack on the ground when Legolas came up to her bearing something in his hand. Miriel raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was the first time since their last talk on the wall of Minas Tirith that Legolas had approached her.

The Elf smiled and handed her a small package with a leaf-wrapping.

"What's this?" asked Miriel.

"Try it and see," answered Legolas, opening the leaf for her.

Miriel was puzzled, but she obeyed and found a golden loaf of hard bread nestled inside the leaf. She carefully broke off a corner and nibbled on it cautiously. At once her eyes widened, shining with wonder, and she stared up at Legolas.

"Mmm! Mmm!" Miriel cried in delight with her mouth full, and she ate another piece. "Oh my goodness! This is delicious! What is this stuff? Where did it come from?"

"It's called Lembas," Legolas replied, laughing with pleasure as he watched her. "It's the waybread of the Elves. It has been with our people a long time, and it sustained Frodo, the Ringbearer, on his quest to Mount Doom."

Miriel swallowed hard and looked down on the little golden loaf she was holding with a new sense of awe. She felt strangely honored to have tasted the food that kept the Hobbits alive on the road through Mordor.

"Wow," she murmured at last. "Thank you," she added as she gazed at Legolas.

"You're welcome, my lady," answered Legolas, and he began to walk away.

"Wait! Don't you want to keep some of this?" Miriel cried after him, suddenly not wanting him to leave.

"No, there's plenty more where that came from," replied Legolas, laughing as he vanished in the twilight.

The rest of the journey was long and slow, and it was tiresome although uneventful. But when they arrived in Edoras, Miriel became emotional and looked around, wondering where the marketplace her parents had met in stood. Miriel was overcome by the awe of Meduseld as she entered the Golden Hall for the first time; she fancied that she could sense her mother's presence in the stone walls. Edoras was more rugged and earthy than the white polished towers of Minas Tirith, but Miriel found she liked it. The more natural setting suited her, since she had grown up in a peasant setting.

Miriel immediately found herself plunged into the midst of a wild swirl of activity. For three days Miriel worked beside Rolande and Eowyn as they directed people to decorate the city with fair hangings and fluttering banners. They helped place numerous torches along the walls. In a surprisingly short time they had Edoras so gaily bedecked in colored ribbons and flowers that it looked like another city altogether, and its beauty was second only to the matchless glory of Minas Tirith.

But before the celebrations began, they first held a funeral for Theoden King. They laid him lovingly to rest beside his fathers and the other great Kings of the Mark. They covered his mound with green grass and snowed thick drifts of pale white flowers called Simbelmyne, or Evermind, upon it. Miriel felt her heart stir deep inside of her as Riders of the King's house rode solemnly around the barrow and sang:

Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day's rising

he rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.

Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended,

over death, over dread, over doom lifted

out of loss, out of life, unto long glory.

Miriel lowered her eyes and wept silently for one who would have been a father to her and never was. Legolas stood at her side, and Miriel leaned against him as Legolas looped a comforting arm around her waist.

There was a great feast immediately following in the Golden Hall. Sorrow quickly turned to joy as they prepared to name the new King of Rohan. Then the Lady Eowyn took a cup filled with wine and gave it to Eomer. A minstrel stood up and ceremoniously named all the past Kings of the Mark in order, seventeen in all, ending with Theoden the latest. At the mention of Theoden, Eomer drained his cup. At once all the assembly rose and lifted their cups into the air.

"Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!" they cried as one, and they drank to the new King.

When the feast ended, Eomer stood up smiling and addressed everyone.

"Now this is the funeral feast of Theoden the King," he announced. "But I will speak ere we go of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I should do so, since he was ever a father to Eowyn my sister.

"Hear then all my guests, fair folk of many realms, such as have never been gathered in this hall! Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Eowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all."

Faramir and Eowyn stepped forward, hand in hand. Faramir was tall and handsome, and the torchlight gleamed on his silver armor. Eowyn stood beside him, glowing like gold, radiant as the sun, and white as a lily. Their eyes were shining as they looked lovingly at one another. Again the assembly lifted their goblets.

As they paused, Miriel glanced over the rim of her cup, and her eyes met Legolas's steady gaze. Swiftly she turned away.

"Long life and happiness!" the people shouted until the rafters rang and echoed endlessly as they drank to the couple before them.

"Thus is the friendship of the Mark and of Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more do I rejoice," declared Eomer, setting his goblet down on the table.

Aragorn smiled and bowed his head to Eomer.

"No niggard are you, Eomer, to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm!" said Aragorn.

At this Miriel saw Eowyn blush. Eowyn turned and looked shyly into Aragorn's eyes.

"Wish me joy, my liege-lord and healer!" Eowyn murmured quietly.

"I have wished thee joy ever since I first saw thee," Aragorn answered her with a gentle smile. "It heals my heart to see thee now in bliss."

It's like watching a similar triangle to Rolande, Legolas and me, thought Miriel. Only Eowyn's triangle had turned out far better than Miriel's. Eowyn's story had not one, but two happy endings. Miriel's tale had none in sight.

These same thoughts filled Miriel's mind when she stood outside the Golden Hall after the feast, looking upon the lands of Rohan. It was late in the evening, but there was a full moon that enchanted the hills of the Riddermark and made them shimmer with silver blue light. A soft breeze whipped through her hair and rippled her white dress.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" came a voice from her side.

Miriel spun around, startled. She had not heard Legolas come up behind her.

"It is," Miriel answered, and she was trembling.

Legolas reached for her hand, but Miriel pulled it quickly away. It hurt her heart to do so, and she could tell the gesture pained Legolas as well. They were silent for a while.

"Manen anann?" asked Legolas softly, lapsing into his own tongue. "How long will you run away, Miriel?"

"As long as I have to."

"Will you not change your mind?" Legolas implored.

Miriel shut her eyes determinedly. She shook her head once and did not look at him.

"Why not, my lady?"

"You know why, Legolas."

Legolas sighed. "You are the strongest woman I have ever known, Lady Miriel. But right now I wish you would give in. My heart is in agony."

"As is mine," muttered Miriel. "But I will not. You said yourself, Legolas, that emotions can cause the Elves to make mistakes. You are doing that even now. You are making a grave mistake in pursuing that which you cannot have. But I won't let you do this."

Miriel looked at Legolas for as long as she dared. "Let go of this obsession, Legolas," Miriel urged. "Forget that I ever existed. Take the ship into the West. Spend eternity with your kindred. It is your fate and your destiny." Having said those painful words, Miriel turned away.

"I can do none of those things, Lady Miriel," Legolas answered evenly in his turn. "Why will you not look and see that the path to Valinor is not mine to take?"

"Why will you not listen to me when I say that a lonely life and a death here in Middle-earth will be far worse?" Miriel shot back, her eyes snapping with sudden fire.

"What makes you think that an eternity in Valinor without your love will be any better?" returned Legolas.

"Because I know!" shouted Miriel, bursting into tears. "I know what it is like to be left behind-"

Miriel broke off and bit her lip when she realized what she had just said. Legolas stood speechlessly. Suddenly light dawned in his eyes.

"Now I understand," he declared slowly. He laughed aloud, and his voice rang warm with triumph. "At last, we come to the truth! So this, then, is why you will not listen to any reason in the matter."

Miriel turned away angrily. Her dark eyebrows drew tight, and she clenched her fists until her knuckles were chalk white.

"You are wrong," said Miriel, but her voice quavered. "You don't understand. You don't have the faintest idea what…" She drew a tremulous breath heavy with anguish before continuing. "…What this is really like."

"Miriel," said Legolas softly, but new purpose infused his words. "Listen to me, I beg you. You feel abandoned by your family. They were killed, and you were allowed to linger here without them, left to wander the dark paths of Middle-earth alone. It was cruel, terribly cruel, and a bitter weight to carry."

Miriel said nothing, but Legolas could see her chin trembling and the tears pouring down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook as if she were silently sobbing.

"You understand the unfairness of life and death too well," continued Legolas sympathetically. "You have been there. You have quailed in its shadow, and it has broken your heart and dried you up inside with grief, like a tiny stream in the desert. The last thing you would want is to doom another to the same fate, and especially one whom you love."

Miriel bowed her head and covered her face with her hands, cringing in agony as she wept. Legolas gently took her in his arms, and Miriel clung to him. She buried her head in his strong shoulder and cried.

"No more, Miriel," whispered Legolas in her ear, rubbing her back soothingly with one hand and stroking her wavy brown hair with the other. "No longer will you have to be alone. I'm here. I love you. I would die for you, and you know this. I would endure any hardship for you, Miriel, even loneliness, even being trapped here in Middle-earth forever. I would do anything for you. And I release you from all the guilt you feel from accepting our love, however ill-fated it may seem. You are not the one responsible for my doom, because the decision is mine to make, not yours."

Miriel suddenly pushed Legolas away with a roar and stood back while her tears rained unceasingly upon the cold stones.

"No!" she cried. "I won't let you do this! You don't know what you are saying! I have been there, Legolas. I know what it's like! Whether it is to your mind or not, by accepting your offer, I am participating in your doom. I won't do it, Legolas! I can't!"

"I do not say that I would do anything for you lightly," answered Legolas, nonplussed by her violent reaction.

"You don't know," insisted Miriel. "You couldn't possibly know unless you've been there, and you haven't! And I'm trying to see to it that you never will be!"

"Miriel-"

"No!"

"Miriel-"

"Stop asking me!"

"Miriel-"

Miriel cried harder.

"Please, Legolas!" she begged. "You're hurting me!"

Legolas looked at her sorrowfully. He longed to comfort her, but Miriel kept her distance, and when Legolas took a step toward her, she moved swiftly away and held up a stiff hand that trembled between them like a harpstring tightened to the breaking point.

"Don't," she warned. Her tears continued to flow unchecked, but she forced herself upright and stared at him through swollen eyes. "No more. Not another word."

Legolas pursed his lips and nodded. He watched while Miriel slowly regained control of herself, and after a few deep breaths, her wracking sobs subsided to mere sniffles and her hand slowly returned to her side. The full moon rose higher in the dark sky, and the light of the great star, Earendil, vanished behind the distant horizon as it set in the west.

Still Legolas waited until Miriel had recovered entirely before he spoke.

"I will always love you, Miriel," he declared.

Miriel was coldly silent.

"I am leaving with the company in the morning, Miriel," announced Legolas quietly. "I will travel with Gimli to the Glittering Caves of Aglarond and Fangorn Forest. I made him a promise, and I do not break my promises." He was looking at her sternly as he spoke, and Miriel knew he was referring to another promise, the one Legolas made to her before the War of the Ring had ended, when he left Miriel at Helm's Deep.

"Then I will return with King Aragorn to Minas Tirith, for he will have need of me there," Legolas added.

"I wish you luck," choked Miriel, and she could say no more. She clenched her jaws tightly as if that one action alone kept in check the flood of emotion that threatened to rush out of her. Legolas seemed as if he could not speak either, but he reached for her hand and caught it before she had a chance to pull away. Miriel was forced to look into his bright blue eyes.

"Come with me?" he pleaded.

Miriel winced and trembled. She found she could hardly stand. She wanted to give in more than anything in the world, and as Miriel looked into his eyes, her will completely dissolved. There was nothing left of her former resistance, and she opened her mouth to say yes.

But at the last moment she stopped herself from speaking the fateful word. Suddenly she tore her hand out of Legolas's grasp and ran to the door of the Golden Hall. Miriel worked frantically at the latch in a wild panic, as if she had forgotten how to open a door.

"You know where your heart truly lies," said Legolas quietly, standing like stone as he watched her. "You cannot run from it forever."

Miriel glanced at him with overbright tear-filled silvery eyes that threatened to spill over again. She gave a little gasp and with a final effort she threw open the door and disappeared inside Meduseld. Legolas was left alone with a shaft of yellow torchlight burning across the place where Miriel had stood and the distant sounds of faded laughter and merriment floating out from the palace.


	22. MIRIEL'S VILLAGE

MIRIEL'S VILLAGE

The next morning Miriel stayed in her tower and did not even come down for breakfast. She had not slept all during the night, and was emotionally fragile. Legolas was leaving with King Aragorn, and Miriel was afraid of making a scene. But she knew that this might be the last time she would ever see Legolas, unless she chanced to travel to Minas Tirith, and she could not bear the thought of being separated from him without saying goodbye. She wanted to have one final glimpse of the Elf before he rode away, so she kept vigil from a hidden window as the sun climbed in the sky, watching and waiting for Legolas.

Without warning the Elf appeared, riding out of the stables on Arod with Gimli behind him, as always, and King Aragorn at his side. They made ready to depart with all the company except Faramir, who would remain with Eowyn in Edoras for a while. Miriel did not have the courage to go and face Legolas, even to see him off, so she stayed where she was until Aragorn, heading the great procession, led the way out of the city.

As the company headed away into the hills, Miriel began to tremble. Suddenly she fled from the tower and ran wildly through Meduseld, ignoring the surprised exclamations from lords and guards she passed in her haste. Miriel burst from the palace doors and emerged, blinking rapidly in the blinding yellow sunlight. There she stood, a lone white figure, small and windswept on the stones as she watched Legolas cantering away.

It seemed to Miriel that Legolas felt a sudden prickle at the back of his neck, for he stiffened. He whipped around and looked back at the fortress of Edoras, and at once the light of his gaze fell upon Miriel and pierced her heart.

Miriel's eyes grew large and bright in her pale face, but she bit her lip and fought to hold back the tears. Slowly she raised her hand in a token of farewell. The gesture was returned as Arod cantered onward with a smooth and flowing stride. Miriel held the Elf in her vision as long as she dared, then she turned away and vanished inside the Golden Hall. She could not bear to watch until Legolas was out of sight.

Miriel hid in her chamber for an hour or two until Eowyn came up to fetch her. Miriel was sitting on her bed facing the window with her back to the door.

"Lady Miriel!" cried Eowyn as she entered the room, bursting with excitement. "There you are! I was looking everywhere for you. Eomer is beginning his rule today, and..."

At that moment Eowyn caught sight of the blank expression on Miriel's pale, drawn face, and she broke off. Eowyn sobered immediately and came to stand before Miriel, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Is everything all right?" asked Eowyn tentatively.

Miriel bit her lip and shook her head, but she did not offer an explanation. Eowyn stood by uncertainly. Neither princess moved for a long time. Finally Eowyn went over to Miriel and reached out to comfort her.

"I understand," Eowyn said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Don't worry about anything that is happening in Edoras. Stay here in the tower and rest. You've had a rough time. You need to sleep-"

Suddenly Miriel jumped to her feet, roused to anger by Eowyn's gentleness. Fire blazed in her eyes.

"No," Miriel snapped. "I can't."

"Lady Miriel-" began Eowyn, as Miriel pushed past Eowyn.

"I can't stay here," insisted Miriel, pausing at the door and looking back. Her words were short and clipped. "I have to move on. I can't wait any longer. I have to be strong. I made my decision. He is gone. I will live with the consequences. Just give me something to do so I can work my way out of this mess, alright?"

Eowyn was shocked by Miriel's curt speech, and even more by Miriel's hard, determined face. Miriel's silver eyes seemed more steely gray than ever, and her knuckles whitened to the pale hue of her cheeks as she clung desperately to the doorway. It seemed as if Miriel would collapse when she let go.

But Eowyn understood Miriel's feelings better than anyone else would have. She clamped her mouth shut and made an effort to conceal her surprise.

"Of course, Lady Miriel," returned Eowyn, stepping briskly past Miriel as if nothing were wrong. Eowyn marched down the steps with Miriel right behind her. By the time they arrived at Meduseld and stood before Eomer, even Eowyn was stunned to see that Miriel was coldly in control of herself. Miriel was quiet and withdrawn, but other than that and the lack of light in her gray eyes, there was no sign that anything was wrong.

Eomer began his rule at once, and together with Eowyn and Miriel, he set Meduseld in order that very day. Faramir helped Eomer strengthen the fortress at Edoras and set guards along the restored wall. Edoras had been slowly crumbling into ruin while Theoden King was under the spell of the evil wizard Grima Wormtongue, and Miriel appointed overseers to begin work on it right away.

A week of ceaseless activity passed. Miriel threw herself into it with all her might, but it did not help her forget about Legolas. It did not help her to see Eowyn and Faramir constantly together and fairly glowing, even when they were apart. Miriel had little appetite for food, and at the end of the day she was so exhausted that she collapsed on her bed and fell into a dreamless sleep until the dawn. She dragged her weary limbs from the bed each morning and struggled onward through her days.

Miriel did not want to spend any more time in Edoras than she had to, for reminders of Legolas were everywhere, and watching Faramir and Eowyn agitated her to no end. Soon Miriel turned her attention to the rest of Rohan. Miriel remembered the burned villages, and she wanted to know if they had made progress rebuilding the ruined homes in her absence.

Edoras was well under control, and Eowyn and Faramir were there to assist Eomer, so Miriel and Rolande, together with a small company of the Rohirrim, rode out to see how the villagers were getting along.

Rolande spurred his horse up to Miriel's and they trotted side by side.

"How are you doing, my lady?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm holding up," Miriel answered with a grim smile. "I'm just grateful for how busy we are. I don't have time to think, and it's been a wonderful thing."

"Good," said Rolande, and then he shot her a wry glance. "How do you feel towards me for refusing your offer?"

Miriel sighed.

"I'm fine about it now," she replied quietly. "You were right, of course, but I didn't want to admit it. Forgive me for my rash words. It seemed like the easy way out of my problems, and for a moment I abandoned my courage and tried to take it."

"Everyone does at one time or another, for different reasons," Rolande answered. "The smooth sunlit path is always preferable to the hard and bumpy one. I was a fool, though, for not accepting your proposal."

Miriel looked up at him sharply, but she saw that he was smiling. Soon they were both laughing merrily and chatting away like old friends, and Miriel felt like she could breathe for the first time in many long weeks.

In the afternoon of the second day, they saw one of the villages in the distance. As they got closer, Miriel gasped and rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

The village was complete and beautiful. Happy people worked within it, and they looked up when they saw the riders. A great shout went up.

"It's Princess Miriel! It's Princess Miriel!" they cried.

Throngs of people burst from their houses, singing and dancing in the bright sunlight as they filled the streets around her. Miriel stared at them and a little smile of bewilderment was on her face. One older man pushed forward and bowed low before Miriel.

"Who are you?" asked Miriel when the man rose up again.

"I am called Tirion, my lady," the man answered. "I have been elected as mayor."

"Good!" said Miriel, glancing around at the small crowd. "But there are so few here. Where is everyone else?"

"They moved on some time ago," Tirion replied. "They rebuilt this village swiftly and I'm certain they will have finished several by now. Your leadership was excellent, my lady, and we found it easy to continue when you were gone."

Miriel's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "Why… thank you," she murmured. She glanced at Rolande and found him grinning at her.

Miriel and Rolande rode onward. They came to several villages that had been fully restored to their former glory and in some cases much improved. In each town, there was an elected mayor overseeing the people, and happy crowds flooded the lanes to greet them. Miriel was overwhelmed.

When twilight fell, they arrived at yet another thriving little village and stayed the night at a newly-constructed inn called THE WHITE HART. Miriel and Rolande found it quite comfortable and quietly took their supper in a cozy sitting room warmed by a small fire.

"You're not saying much tonight, my lady," commented Rolande at length. "Are you all right?"

Miriel looked up out of her deep thoughts in surprise and smiled.

"Yes, thank you. I was just thinking about all those villagers. They acted like they would have never gotten on without me. But I should never have been their leader without all those terrible tragedies, and the war, and the Orcs invading, and the assault on Helm's Deep, and losing my family, and everything."

"Oft evil brings out good in the end," quoted Rolande solemnly. "The sun shines out the brighter when the shadows have passed."

Miriel nodded, and they ate the rest of their meal in silence.

Miriel and Rolande rode through several more villages, all of which were under construction but near completion. The people were happy, self-sufficient and well on their way to becoming as prosperous as they had been before the War.

The biggest shock to Miriel came when they reached her own village. As they rode up the familiar lane, Miriel fancied that she could see a shadow of herself dancing in the wind on the hilltop under the blood-red sunset on that fateful day that changed her life forever. She could hear echoes of happy laughter, and she saw the ghosts of her father and brothers as they came in from the fields. She heard warm greetings and light teasing, and herself lovingly chiding her father for being late. And then there was the ringing clash of swords as she and Alastar fought in the fading twilight for the last time.

Suddenly Miriel felt a hand upon her shoulder. She whipped around with a startled cry. Rolande had ridden up beside her and shaken her out of her reverie. Miriel was unaware that Kaspir had stopped until that moment.

"My lady?" said Rolande, his face full of concern.

Miriel turned and looked at the hilltop once more, but the vision vanished. Her old life was gone forever and was well on its way to being buried in the past where it would be lost in the swirling gray mists of time. There was none to remember these things anymore. None but her.

"I'm fine, Rolande," Miriel answered shakily, but it was obvious that she wasn't.

She turned away determinedly and spurred Kaspir onward, and as they entered the village, Miriel saw the cottages with her waking eyes in the process of being rebuilt and restored in the clear daylight. But in her mind it was a dark and frightening night, painted over by a swirl of orange and black. She was surrounded by the shadowy forms of men, women and children fleeing madly in the dim light of the red flames. She could hear the evil Orcs grunting and snarling fiercely behind them like rabid beasts. She remembered clutching a warm bundle tightly as if for dear life; a small baby handed into her care by a desperate mother. There were arrows flying around them, and Kaspir dancing in terror beneath her as Alastar gripped the reins and shouted in Miriel's ear.

"Don't look back! Don't look back!" And then he was gone. There was nothing behind her but an empty saddle and a chilling wind.

"Alastar!" screamed Miriel into the bright blue skies.

"Lady Miriel?" cried Rolande, at her side in an instant.

Suddenly Miriel slumped over her saddle, and Rolande, vaguely frightened, gently lifted her up. Miriel fell against him, sobbing.

"My family..." she gasped.

Rolande immediately realized what was wrong.

"Hush now, my lady," whispered Rolande soothingly. He turned and ordered the Rohirrim to dismount and eat something, and then he helped Miriel down from Kaspir and bid one of the men to take care of the horses. Rolande led Miriel down the sloping lane, and Miriel stumbled beside him as one who was stricken blind.

"Where is your place, my lady?" he asked gently. Miriel did not open her eyes, but she lifted a trembling hand and pointed in the direction she knew it would be.

Rolande looked up and saw it was nothing but a burned-out shell, and he dared not take her there. Instead he gently guided her into a nearby abandoned cottage and settled her in a chair. He closed the door, covered her with a blanket, and poured a mug of some warm liquid for her to drink. Then he himself sat down and waited quietly for her tears to subside.


	23. RETURN TO EDORAS

RETURN TO EDORAS

During the days that followed, Miriel spent much of her time on the same hilltop where she first beheld the blood-red sunset that foreboded her doom while waiting for her father and brothers to come home.

How her life had changed since that terrible twilight! No longer was Miriel the carefree maiden who had once danced with wild abandon upon the golden fields. The wind still called her name, whispering of the joys of freedom; beckoning her to cast her heavy cares upon it and let it blow them away into forever while Miriel leapt over the tall grasses and raced into the wide open lands under endless skies. But this time Miriel did not answer.

Miriel had passed through much death and suffering, and she continued to sail through oceans of longing and sorrow at being parted from her true love. It was slowly breaking down Miriel's spirit and toughening her character. It matured her in many ways, but Miriel wondered at the change. Often, as she stood upon the crest of the hill, Miriel found herself trying to discover who she had been and who she had become. It was difficult process, and it was a little disconcerting to find that her own heart was a stranger.

Two weeks later Rolande and Miriel were once again riding across Rohan with the Rohirrim trailing behind. They were on their way back to Edoras, for their task was complete and the villages restored and healthy once again. Minor repair work remained to be accomplished on the last few huts, but there was nothing further Miriel herself could do to assist the builders. Everything was well in hand, and Miriel felt she was no longer needed.

Miriel's home was never rebuilt. There were none to live in it now, so there was no reason to. It had been completely destroyed in the fire and no part of the original structure could be salvaged. Rolande firmly suggested that Miriel should not be involved in the affairs of her old home, and Miriel meekly agreed. Rolande told her he would take care of it himself.

Rolande then quietly told the new mayor of the town to wait until they left, and then clear away the ruins for good, without Miriel's knowledge. Rolande ordered that the land be given to some other less fortunate family where they could start a new life and build their own cottage and harvest the fields of wheat.

Miriel was silent and sober as they traveled. When she arrived in Edoras, she went straight to the Golden Hall. She ran to King Eomer and knelt before him, and Eomer rose smiling to greet her.

"My sister," said Eomer.

"My lord," returned Miriel demurely. "Where is Eowyn?"

"She has departed for Ithilien with Lord Faramir. In a few short months, she will marry him. We will go to the wedding when that time comes."

Miriel spoke little with Eomer about matters of diplomatic importance and left the court feeling sad and melancholy. She was happy for Eowyn, of course, but Edoras seemed overlarge and empty without her. Miriel had nothing to do, no people to personally oversee, and no important task to accomplish. She suddenly felt as if she were useless, a mere ornament in Meduseld, and an adopted one at that. Her life's worth, in her own eyes, had dwindled to nothing.

Her thoughts strayed unhindered to Legolas. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. He would have traveled with Gimli to Helm's Deep and visited her caves, and from there they would have taken the road to Minas Tirith through Fangorn Forest. By now Legolas must be in the White City, but doing what? Perhaps he too was pacing the stones even as Miriel was, and staring into the West.

Toward the Sea, or toward Edoras? Miriel wondered.

She had to try and forget about him, but aimlessly wandering the deserted roads inside the fortress was not the answer. Reminders of Legolas were everywhere. In the flowers and grasses, in the joyful song of the birds, in the deep blue of the skies, in the starlight on the distant hills, in the mournful cry of the wind on a stormy night – everywhere Miriel could see his face and hear his voice, and she was powerless to escape. She could neither eat nor sleep. Idleness did nothing to mend her sad state of mind.

She had to do something. In desperation, Miriel took Kaspir out every morning and evening for a gallop over the golden fields.

For a brief time, the dark cloud would lift, and Miriel could see the sun shining. There was the feel of a strong horse running effortlessly beneath her, the wind whipping freely through her hair, and her cloak fluttering behind her like black wings. Miriel reveled in it while it lasted, and wished that the cloud would disappear forever. But deep down she knew she wasted her hopes in vain.

The days passed slowly. Miriel grew more somber and distant. King Eomer was full of brotherly concern for her well being and tried to get her to talk, but Miriel did not yield to the soft brown eyes or the gentle manner of Eomer King and would not tell him what her trouble was. Eomer finally summoned Rolande and asked him what troubled the Princess, but Rolande politely refused to speak of it.

"Forgive me, my lord," said Rolande with a bow. "But I cannot betray Miriel's confidence in me."

"Will she be all right, do you think?" asked Eomer.

"Alas! I do not know," answered Rolande with a sigh. "The wound runs deep, like that wound that formerly belonged to your sister, Lady Eowyn. It is possible that if the cure is not found soon, she will suffer forever."

"Your words trouble me greatly, for Miriel is also my sister," declared the King, frowning. "Is there anything we can do to ease her pain?"

Rolande sadly shook his head.

One day, when Miriel was riding under a particularly brilliant golden sunset, Kaspir stopped abruptly at no signal from Miriel. Miriel was jolted sharply out of her reverie. She looked away from the fantastic skies and glanced anxiously at her horse. Kaspir stood rigidly, a black silhouette in the fading orange light, staring intently at the eastern horizon. His nostrils flared wide and he uttered a shrill whinny that shattered the stillness of the evening and jarred Miriel's fragile nerves.

"What is it, Kaspir?" whispered Miriel, trying to follow the line of Kaspir's sight. She peered into the gathering twilight, and at first she could see nothing. She felt a twinge of fear. She thought she heard an echo of Kaspir's challenge, and she stared expectantly into the distance.

Suddenly she detected movement on one of the far hills. A horse bearing two riders appeared, shining white as snow, and he reared and struck at the sky with his flinty hooves. Then he dropped back to earth and in one smooth leap he was in full gallop, hurtling straight toward Miriel with the unchecked speed of a flying arrow, his mane whipping in the wind like red flames in the dying sunlight.

All at once Miriel shrieked, and Kaspir, sensing the peril of facing unknown strangers alone and unprotected, turned of his own accord and began to run away toward Edoras. But Miriel fought his head and brought him about in a wide circle.

"No, no, Kaspir!" Miriel told her horse. "Those are not our enemies, but our long-lost friends!"

Miriel leaned forward in excitement and sent Kaspir racing towards the oncoming white horse. There was only one pair in Middle-earth that she knew of who always rode together on the same horse in that fashion.

"Miriel! Miriel!" came a familiar shout borne to her ears on the blessed golden breeze.

"Legolas!" Miriel cried, and she leaned low over Kaspir's neck, moving with her horse as one, willing him to move faster and bear her ever swifter to her love.

But the horse could not gallop quickly enough for Miriel. When they were still a fair distance from one another, Miriel pulled Kaspir to a skidding halt and leapt from the saddle, running wildly through the tall grasses, her hair streaming out behind her. Legolas jumped lightly to the ground Elven-style and skipped swiftly over the hills.

In a single joyous moment they were together, crushing one another in their arms.

"I'm so happy you came," said Miriel, clinging to Legolas as if she would never let go.

"Of course I did! Are you surprised? Did you think I could stay away for long?"

"I don't know. You're here, and I don't care," Miriel answered, and she laughed as Legolas held her. Nothing else mattered to her, and Legolas hugged her and carried her around in a little circle.

Suddenly they were interrupted.

"Couldja give me a hand here?" came a gruff voice from behind them.

Slowly Miriel and Legolas released each other and looked back. They beheld poor Gimli clinging grimly to the side of Arod's saddle, struggling to hold on and save himself from a most undignified fall. Arod himself craned around to look at the discomfited Dwarf, and he let out a high, shrill whinny that sounded like a laugh.

Legolas burst out chuckling, but whatever Arod had said Legolas kept to himself. He ran to Gimli and boosted him back into the saddle.

"You 'bout knocked me out, Laddie, jumping off like that," reprimanded the Dwarf, shooting a dark glance at Legolas as he settled himself uncomfortably on Arod's back. "I've naught to hold onto up here but you."

"Forgive me, Gimli," said Legolas humbly while fighting back a grin. "I got distracted, and I was in a hurry."

Gimli grunted in reply, but Miriel could see the twinkle in the Dwarf's eyes. Miriel and Legolas walked hand in hand into the blazing sunset that set the Golden Hall on fire, and Legolas led Arod with Gimli sitting in the saddle and complaining.

"Now there wasn't a greeting like that waiting for me here," groused the Dwarf, but his mustache was curled upward on one side with a concealed smile. "No beautiful women galloping out on horses to meet me with a shriek and a hug and a 'Where have you been all my life!' "

"If you just want a hug, I can give you one when we come to Edoras," teased Miriel.

And so laughing, they caught up Kaspir and went gladly into the city together.

Eomer warmly welcomed Legolas and Gimli as he would brothers in arms. He set a feast before them and while they ate Eomer asked them why they had come.

"We have journeyed through the Glittering Caves of Aglarond and Fangorn Forest together, and we wanted to rest here a short while before returning to Minas Tirith," answered Legolas, but his gaze strayed to Miriel. Miriel did not look away, but rather boldly returned the glance. Eomer perceived that there was more to Legolas's words than he openly revealed, but Eomer said nothing. He was glad to see a light in Miriel's cold gray eyes for the first time in too long.

That night, Miriel and Legolas stood together on the wall overlooking the silvery lands of the Riddermark, as they had done so many times before. Legolas took Miriel's hand and looked deep into her gray eyes.

"Lady Miriel, give me leave to speak once more," he began. "You know I love you. I know how strong the love is that you bear for me because you would deny yourself happiness to see that I don't get hurt. I am greatly touched that you would do this for me."

"Legolas, I-" Miriel started.

"No, please, let me finish," begged Legolas.

Miriel nodded, and her eyes glistened like living stars in the moonlight.

"But my lady," Legolas continued. "What you don't know is that I am already in great pain. Each day that I'm not with you is a death in and of itself. My longing for you far surpasses the call of the West.

"I love you. It is my own choice, whether I stay or go. Will you not let me make it? Will you marry me?"

Miriel stared for the last time into the West. But Legolas was determined, and Miriel no longer had the will to resist. She looked back at Legolas and smiled.

"Yes, Legolas Greenleaf. I will marry you."

Surprise and delight filled the Elf's face. "Wha- really? You will?" he cried in disbelief.

"Yes," answered Miriel, laughing merrily at his astonished reaction.

"But... why?"

"Because I love you," replied Miriel, mildly puzzled. "Why else would I marry you?"

Legolas smiled. "That's not what I meant," he explained. "Why have you suddenly changed your mind?"

"My mind was made up the moment I saw you appear on that eastern horizon," Miriel replied. "All my doubts vanished in that hour. And it was not sudden. What you said at Edoras was right. There is only one place for my heart, and I have long known it, but now I can no longer deny it."

Legolas raised his eyebrows. "I'm glad," he said with a relieved smile.

Miriel wept for joy as Legolas took the silver star ring of Westernesse from his finger and slipped it onto Miriel's left hand. She bit her lip and looked down at it, shining brightly under the dull film of her tears. And then she felt Legolas move close against her, and she responded by pressing into him in return. His arm slipped around her back as he gently brushed away her tears. She gave a little laugh that fully betrayed her joy. She bit her lip and gazed up at him, and the look in his blue eyes that told of love and tenderness and passion overwhelmed her. Legolas gathered Miriel lovingly in his arms and kissed her as they stood on the wall under the light of the stars while the wind rushed over them.

The next morning Miriel went before Eomer and told him what happened. Eomer was delighted and wished her every happiness. Miriel thanked him and begged for leave to return with Legolas to Minas Tirith.

"Your work here is finished," Eomer answered, and he kissed her hand and smiled at her. "Rohan has been restored, thanks in large part to you. Of course you have my blessing, although it greatly grieves my heart to see you go. I have lost both my sisters, but both to worthy men."

Miriel smiled at him and squeezed his hand, honored to have been addressed as his sister.

Miriel left Meduseld and hurried down the street. She had one other person to see before she prepared to depart.

"Rolande!" she cried, bursting into the stable and searching in the gloom where she knew he would be at that hour, feeding the horses breakfast. Rolande threw down the bundle of hay he was carrying and turned to Miriel as she rushed toward him.

"What is it?" he questioned her with a grin and a little bow. "You look as bright as spring sunshine and very excited about something."

"I am!" Miriel burst out. "Rolande, I'm getting married!"

Rolande's eyes widened in surprise. "About time," he muttered. Then he laughed merrily. He caught Miriel's hands and swung her in a little circle around the stable.

"That's wonderful news!" he said, releasing her again.

Miriel's joy dampened momentarily as she remembered Rolande's feelings, which she had quite forgotten in her exuberance.

"You're happy then?" asked Miriel with a note of caution creeping into her voice.

"Deliriously so," replied Rolande, smiling. "I could wish you no greater joy than this. You'll be leaving for Minas Tirith soon, I imagine."

"Yes," returned Miriel, and her eyes were sparkling. "We'll be riding in three days."

"You'll be taking a company of the Rohirrim with you, right?"

Miriel frowned. "I wasn't planning on it. I don't see why we need to."

"You should," advised Rolande seriously.

"Why?" asked Miriel. "The War is over."

"The downfall of Sauron does not mean the immediate end of all evils," Rolande answered. "Small groups of Orcs still roam here and there, and there are bandits lurking in the dark places of the forests. Take an escort with you, just to be safe."

"How could you be better protected than with one of the best Elven archers in Middle-earth riding beside you, and a brave and noble Dwarf with a sharp axe close at hand who has proved his valiance on the battlefield a hundred times over?" declared Miriel with a lighthearted chuckle.

"I'm serious," said Rolande quietly, and his brown cat's eyes were deep and somber as he spoke. His expression stole some of Miriel's mirth away. "I want you to take some guards on the journey, if for no other reason, then as a favor to me."

Miriel sighed and gave in. "All right. If it will ease your mind, then I will do it."

"It would," Rolande answered grimly. Then suddenly he smiled. "I'm sure the trip will be uneventful, but it's been such a struggle getting this perfect wedding together that I wouldn't want any little thing to disrupt it."

"Neither would I," Miriel replied, laughing as she headed for the door. She lifted the latch, and then she paused and turned back to Rolande, her expression earnest.

"Thank you, Rolande. Thanks for everything."

"It was my pleasure," said Rolande. He grinned at her, and Miriel flashed a brilliant smile before she disappeared.

Miriel ran through the streets, eager to get back to her room and begin packing. Her mind was elsewhere, wrapped deep in fair thoughts and recent memories, and she wasn't paying attention where she was going. Miriel rushed around a corner and landed right in the arms of Legolas.

"Oh!" she cried in surprise.

"Hello, meleth nin!" Legolas greeted her. "We can't stay away from each other for very long, can we?"

"I guess not," laughed Miriel breathlessly. "You'll need to teach me your language next, especially if I'm going to be a Princess of Mirkwood. I don't have a clue what you just told me."

Legolas's blue eyes sparkled with a sudden idea.

"It means 'my love'," answered Legolas. "I'll give you lessons in Sindarin on the way to Minas Tirith. You'll pick it up right away, and I bet you'll be nearly fluent by the time we reach the White City."

Miriel glowed as Legolas held her. She did not care that they were in plain sight, and indeed many villagers had stopped to stare at them.

"I can't wait," she said. "Your language – Sindarin - is absolutely beautiful. It's so light and musical, it's almost like speaking in song. I love to hear your Elvish, and I want to learn it very badly."

"In no time, even the Elves will mistake you for one of their own," declared Legolas with a smile and a light kiss.


	24. AMBUSH

AMBUSH

Eight horses and nine riders set out from Edoras on a bright, cloudless day. Six guards accompanied Miriel, who rode beside Legolas together with Gimli on Arod. A twelve-day journey lay ahead of them, and Miriel and Legolas seemed content for it to last long and perhaps never end, but Gimli was constantly shifting uncomfortably in the saddle as he sat behind Legolas.

"I hope you two aren't gonna talk all lovey and mushy this whole trip," Gimli muttered.

"We were planning on it," Legolas instantly replied, grinning mischievously at Gimli, who rolled his eyes. "But if it would make you happier, we'll stick to lessons in Sindarin as much as possible."

"Great." Gimli twisted around and looked at Miriel. "Lady Miriel, while you're being dragged throughout Middle-earth with this immortal pain-in-the-neck and nothing else to do, allow me to present for your entertainment: 'Learn to speak Elvish in twelve days with your host, Legolas Greenleaf'," grumbled the Dwarf. "'With mild commentary by Gimli son of Gloin, who was forced to listen.' "

Miriel laughed, and Legolas raised his eyebrows. He craned around and glanced back at the grumpy Dwarf.

"Would you like to speak Sindarin also?" he asked.

"Me? Of course not!" Gimli scoffed. "You wouldn't catch me talking in Elvish! Although," he paused thoughtfully, "It could be of some advantage if I knew what you wood folk were saying."

Legolas winked at Miriel.

The days passed swiftly, and as Legolas had predicted Miriel picked up the language almost immediately. By the time they reached the borders of Rohan and could see the dark eaves of Fangorn Forest like a cloud of shadow in the distance, Legolas was speaking to Miriel in Sindarin and testing her with the Westron translations.

"Tolo, hiril nin, noro go nin," said Legolas.

"Come, my lady, ride with me," answered Miriel.

"Pedich i lam Edhellen?"

"Do you speak Elvish?"

"Renich i beth i pennen?"

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"Le bain, Miriel," declared Legolas with a grin.

Miriel blushed, but her eyes were shining.

"You are beautiful, Sparkling Like Jewels."

"Gwerich faer vara."

"You have a fiery spirit."

"Le en meleth o cuil nin."

"You are the love of my life."

Gimli sighed loudly.

"Will this never end?"

Miriel flashed a smile at the Dwarf.

"Ava-han daro?" Miriel echoed his question in halting Sindarin with a laugh.

"Oh brother," grouched Gimli under his breath, but before he turned away Miriel could see him grinning beneath his mustache.

"He's just jealous of your new language capabilities," Legolas declared. "I gave you the chance to learn, Gimli, when we started. Remember? But you didn't want to, and now Miriel and I will be able to talk to each other and you won't have a clue what we're saying. But look on the bright side! When Miriel gets Sindarin down, you won't have to put up with any more love talk!"

"Le-ab dollen," Gimli replied solemnly.

Legolas's eyes popped.

"Wha- what did you say?"

"Henion man le pedo," replied the Dwarf quietly, struggling with the foreign accent. "Pedo Edhellen nin."

Miriel gasped, and Legolas was speechless. Gimli looked at the gaping pair and a twinkle appeared in his eye.

"I'm the only living Dwarf in Middle-earth who can," he added with a grin.

Legolas laughed softly.

"I give you too little credit, as always, Gimli," Legolas said, and the warm glow in his voice shone through. "Now we won't be able to-"

Suddenly he cut off his sentence and stiffened in the saddle. He stared intently into the distance, and his fair face was tight with concentration and distress.

"What is it?" asked Miriel.

"No dinen!" barked Legolas. He clipped Arod's sides and sent the white horse ahead of the group at a quick canter. They stopped on a rise, and Legolas gazed into the distance. Then he jumped to the ground, leaving Gimli to mind the reins, and fell flat with his ear pressed hard to the earth. He seemed to be listening for something. Miriel spurred Kaspir after them and waited at the bottom of the hill.

Finally Legolas stood up. He glanced in every direction, then he gripped Arod by the reins and ran toward Miriel leading the horse and the Dwarf behind him. When he reached Miriel, it was obvious something was wrong.

"I hear approaching riders," he told her, looking anxiously over his shoulder. "But the hooves of their mounts fall too softly upon the grass to be horses. My ears tell me they are Wargs."

Miriel shivered.

"Wargs!" she cried. "I thought they were gone!" She looked around at the wide land in horror. Rolande's words came back to her: _"The downfall of Sauron does not mean the immediate end of all evils,"_ he had said.

How right Rolande had been! Now they were neatly caught out in the open, and there was nowhere to run and hide, not even a rocky outcropping where they could take a stand and be partially protected from the arrows of the enemy.

"Avo 'osto, hiril nin," replied Legolas softly as he looked into her frightened gray eyes. "Estelio nin." He squeezed her hand briefly, and with that he swept past her, shouting orders to the Rohirrim, who were aware that something was going on.

"Draw your swords!" Legolas commanded. "Prepare for battle!"

Miriel was frightened. She reached down and groped for her own sword which lay hidden in a sheath on her saddle. Her trembling fingers found it and drew it forth with a metallic ring, and it shone like a silver fire in the dying sunlight. She drove Kaspir toward the Rohirrim, gripping her weapon and trying to breathe normally.

Legolas was back on his horse. He had arranged the guards three abreast and two deep, and he set Miriel behind them.

"It will be safer for you here, meleth nin," he explained, and Miriel knew there would be no arguing with him. Legolas himself took his place at the front. Miriel waited nervously and swallowed hard as sweat dripped from her brow.

"Put me on the ground, Laddie!" Gimli was shouting. "I can fight better on my own feet!"

Suddenly Miriel heard grunting and roaring and the clash of cold steel clearly in the golden twilight, and a flood of Wargs appeared and poured over the horizon, snarling and snapping like evil wolves as they galloped toward them. The foremost Warg fell instantly with a feathered arrow in his throat, and Legolas fitted a second shaft to the string as Gimli slid to the ground.

"Let 'em come! Let 'em come!" the Dwarf yelled gleefully, drawing his axe from his belt and nearly jumping up and down in excitement. "Leave some for me, Legolas!"

"There's plenty for us both," answered Legolas grimly as he set loose his second arrow and reached for another. "The whole herd is nearly upon us."

"How many are there?" asked one of the Rohirrim.

"Thirty-seven," Legolas replied absently, never taking his eyes from the oncoming black wave. He fired and a third Warg toppled head over heels down the hillside.

"That's eighteen for you, and nineteen for me," roared Gimli. He glanced sidelong at the Elf and gave Legolas a warning look. "And I'll let you have some of the Wargs, but don't you try takin' more than your share! Let's get 'em!"

"Charge!" cried Legolas at the same moment, and the riders leapt forward shouting as one. Miriel shouted with them, and the surging tide of Orcs slammed into them.

Miriel fought with all her might, slashing wildly at leering Orcs and at their evil mounts from Kaspir's back. Amid the turmoil she caught brief glimpses of Legolas.

The Elf freed a final arrow and swept out his long knives. He galloped fearlessly among the enemy, blazing golden and terrible against the setting sun, cutting a wide swath of destruction among their ranks. Above all the noise Miriel could hear the deep throaty voice of the Dwarf shouting as Gimli wielded his axe and felled Wargs like so many young trees.

"Five! Six! Sev-ven! And eight!" counted Gimli.

Miriel could not help noticing that her own tale was only two.

The swords of the Riders of Rohan rose and fell, but not swiftly enough. They were well outnumbered and outmatched in strength by the foe. One soldier screamed and fell from his horse, and blood streamed from the leg wound of another.

"Miriel! Watch out!" yelled Legolas, and instinctively Miriel ducked a swordstroke from behind. She twisted in the saddle, and with a roar and a blow she laid the Orc at her feet. She raised her sword again and beheaded the Warg beneath it.

"Behind you, Legolas!" Miriel shouted as another Warg rider bore down on the Elf. Arod leapt deftly aside and Legolas took down both foes.

Two Orcs attacked Miriel. Miriel lifted her sword and fought off one attacker, but she screamed as the second blade sliced into her side. She spurred Kaspir into a gallop and ran away until she was no longer crunched helplessly between two foes, and then she spun her horse and charged the first rider, using him as a protective shield against the other Warg rider. She would fight them one at a time.

But the first Orc was a strong warrior. Again and again his sword fell on Miriel. Kaspir danced in terror under her, and Miriel fought to hold onto him with one hand and keep him from bolting while frantically blocking her enemy's blows.

Miriel parried wildly and out of the corner of her eye she saw the second Warg slipping around behind them, but she had her hands full defending herself from the thick rain of blows and staying on Kaspir's back, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The Orc recoiled and drew back his sword, and as he struck at her Miriel threw herself forward and out of the way. The Orc missed and lost his balance, and Miriel brought her sword down on his head with all her might.

She didn't have a moment to lose. She whirled around, expecting to find the second Orc ready to pounce on her. But he wasn't there. Instead Miriel heard two swift blows whistling through the air and a gruff voice.

"Fourteen and fifteen!" shouted Gimli in satisfaction. Both Orc and Warg fell beneath his axe.

Miriel grimaced a smile at him as the Dwarf turned toward her.

"Bless you, Gimli," she muttered.

"You're welcome, my lady!" Gimli replied with a roguish grin, and he dashed away.

Miriel turned Kaspir and looked up to continue fighting.

Suddenly her eyes widened in horror and her blood froze. An approaching black cloud of doom descended upon her.

Time seemed to slow down. Another Orc was galloping toward Miriel, shouting orders to the Warg riders, for he was their leader. He was tall and dark, a menacing shadow against the orange skies. His Warg was a thick, burly, ill-tempered beast, and it roared savagely at Men, Orcs and Wargs alike.

Miriel took it all in at a single glance, for the Orc's stare had fallen on Miriel and his red eyes narrowed with evil intent. He was holding a mighty bow with an arrow fitted to the string and drawn back to his ear. He was aiming for Miriel. The Orc grinned, revealing a mouthful of ugly yellow fangs gleaming in triumph. There was nowhere Miriel could hide. She was trapped, and the Orc knew it.

Miriel screamed in terror as the Orc freed the arrow. A swift twang sliced through the air. Miriel's cry was cut short as the arrow hit her with tremendous force. She stiffened and choked. Sputtering, she painfully craned her head downward to find the shaft buried deep in her heart. Her next thought was for her ring; why had it not protected her? She lifted her hand to find that it was gone. She had lost it in battle; it had slipped off quietly without her notice and was lost somewhere in the trampled grass.

"Mirieeeeeeeeeeel!" came a long cry from Legolas. "Nooooooooooooooo!"

Miriel saw the Orc fall to a single vicious stroke from the Elf. Legolas glanced back at her as he fought. He was distracted, and Miriel, through all her agony, was terrified for him. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She tried again and again until she forced a word past her choking throat.

"Fight," she whispered. Desperation shone in her stone gray eyes. "Fight."

Legolas stared back at her and looked as if he were going to turn Arod in her direction. Miriel knew that if he left the battle, it was over. Miriel clung to Kaspir's mane and swayed, but she held on. She had to make him understand.

"Fight," she begged. "Fight."

Still Legolas hesitated. Miriel gazed at him with tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Go," Miriel cried, her voice high and shrill. Then it fell. "Please."

At last the Elf nodded.

As Legolas turned Arod away and plunged into battle, whirling both blades fiercely over his head, Miriel slipped silently from her horse and fell with a muffled thud to the ground.


	25. VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

Miriel lay on the cold hard ground for what seemed an eternity. She was beyond pain. Her breathing was choked and came in short gasps, and she coughed and sputtered. She was conscious of the battle continuing around her, and yet not fully aware of it. She heard the mingled cries of Men and Orcs mixed with the snarls of Wargs as if from far away. Kaspir was wild with fear now that he was riderless, and his trembling hooves carried him swiftly over the golden hills.

Every moment seemed filled with an hour of thought. Miriel's life flashed before her eyes. She saw the faces of her parents and Alastar and Elidor rush by, then the invasion of the Orcs from Isengard, and the flight to Helm's Deep. Then came the battle on a dark and stormy night full of tragedy and triumph and ill-fated love, followed by separation and interminable waiting. Rebuilding Rohan. Rolande. Three days of darkness. A wild ride to Minas Tirith as the reign of Sauron crumbled into ruin. Joyful reunion. Walking with Legolas in perfect love and bliss. The crowning of the King.

Then sorrow and heartrending decisions. A seesaw of emotions. Her iron resolve to never give in, denying herself happiness for Legolas's sake, and Legolas's revelation that it had been a motivation born of pain and trauma that kept them apart. A wedding and a betrothal and bitter partings and a twilight rush through golden fields into one another's arms. A proposal, an acceptance, a journey, and now...

And now... the end.

It was very near. Miriel could feel it creeping upon her and stealing her breath away. As the memory of the endless months of struggle and anguish of body and soul fell upon her, a single thought eclipsed all others that ran through her mind:

_Why?_

Smoke and dust from the battle blew over her. She could hear Elves singing an ancient lament, their lovely songs rising and falling like gentle waves on a quiet ocean. Miriel closed her eyes, and a glistening tear slipped down her pale white cheek. She could feel her life ebbing away. It would not be long now.

"Legolas," she whispered, and with a final sigh she lay still.

Suddenly there was a rush at her side. Strong hands gripped her shoulders and shook her gently.

"Miriel! Lady Miriel!" came the desperate voice as if from afar.

There was no answer. She did not move. Legolas was frantic.

"Miriel!" Legolas cried. "Don't leave me!"

Miriel drew a shuddering breath and her eyes fluttered open. She could vaguely see the blurry form of the Elf bending over her.

"My… sweet Legolas," Miriel murmured through her parched lips, and a ghost of a smile appeared. "M-mae govannen."

Legolas trembled as he held her, and he gazed with fury and pity at the black shaft of the arrow embedded deep in Miriel's heart, and at the river of blood pouring from the wound. Legolas resisted the impulse to seize the arrow and rip it out, but he knew it was too late. Instead he tore a strip of cloth from his own tunic and wadded it up around the arrow to stop the flow of blood. He knew that there was nothing more he could do for her, but he didn't want to accept it. Tears appeared in his bright blue eyes.

"Miriel," he said, tenderly stroking her hair. "I thought I was too late."

Miriel weakly reached up and touched his cheek with her cold hand. "Is it finished?"

"Yes, my lady," Legolas answered, and his strong jaw shook. His voice went shrill and broke. "We won. Everything is going to be all right now."

Legolas took her little hand in his firm grasp. Miriel struggled to look at him.

"Are you h… hurt?"

"No," Legolas replied, and he could say no more.

Miriel sank back into Legolas's arms, relieved. "That is good," she whispered. She lifted her eyes to the skies.

"A golden sunset," she murmured. "Victory. Only a few hours ago we…" She drew a deep, pained breath. "…We were riding gladly together. How death can come in the hour wh… when one least… expects it!"

Legolas tried to speak, but a wracking sob escaped instead. Miriel silenced him with a soft finger on his lips and looked steadily into his eyes.

"This is a good day, meleth nin," she said, and her voice was stronger, her gaze brighter. "If I could choose my own death, this is as I would have it, in the glowing twilight of victory with my true love at my side."

Legolas's hand, still holding hers, twitched with emotion.

"This is the way it has to be," Miriel whispered intently, her gray eyes fixed on his. "I… love you, and I always will. Death would have come to me… sooner or later. This is for the best. Take… take the ship, Legolas. Take the ship into the West."

"No, no, no," cried Legolas, bending closer, holding her tightly in his arms as if he would never let go.

But Miriel was nodding as she turned away from the comforting warmth of his embrace, for his blue eyes were excruciating to behold. "Our love was… was doomed, my sweet one. But it brought us both great joy while it lasted." She paused, and a shadow passed over her face. But she looked up at him and her expression softened. "My only regret is that I could not have loved you for a longer time. But treasure… our every moment… we spent together, Legolas. Bear away the… the fair memories to the Undying Lands."

"I can't go," the Elf burst out. "I will follow you wherever you go."

"This path leads nowhere for you," answered Miriel, and she made an effort to smile. "Your fate lies on the other side of the Great Ocean. You must accept it."

"And abandon our love?" Legolas cried. "Never!"

"I understand," said Miriel quietly. "I know… what you are feeling. The pain will pass with time. But it was… better to love and lose than… to never have loved… at all. Our love was f… flawless and perfect, and it will forever… remain perfect, untarnished by years and undimmed by time."

"There is only piercing sorrow for me here," Legolas replied. "I will die of a broken heart."

"You mustn't say that!" cried Miriel in her own turn. "Sorrow can be beautiful and blessed. It means that you have lost something so fine and fair that tears are shed in its passing." She was forced to stop and gasp for breath after such a long unbroken sentence. "Our love… was something… most people will n- never find, Legolas. Remember that. You will grieve, but try… to move… away from it quickly and… hold on to the good our love wrought… in both of us."

Legolas fell silent, for he did not want to worry Miriel more than necessary by arguing. He forced himself to nod dumbly. The sound of her faltering words was bitter to him.

"I will always love you, and only you, Miriel," Legolas told her.

"And… I… you, Legolas," Miriel answered. Then her gaze drifted away toward the horizon, and over the smoking battlefield she could see her horse prancing wildly in the setting sun. A single star appeared in the darkening skies. It was Earendil.

Miriel's eyes clouded.

"I hear… Elves singing, but it's fading," she whispered faintly. "I feel… peaceful and h- happy. I am going to… see my family again!" She smiled absently, and a shining tear fell into the green grass and was lost. "Alastar! Elidor! Mother! Father!"

She turned her soft gray gaze back to Legolas. Suddenly she flinched and stiffened as she went into her final thoes of agony.

"My… time has… has come, my love," she said, and she tried to smile. "Now… now you… are free."

"No! Don't go!" cried Legolas, desperately, clutching her to him. "I love you, Miriel!"

Miriel struggled and choked.

"And I… I love… I- I… I love..."

Her eyes glazed over. She gasped her last breath and collapsed in Legolas's arms.

"Miriel! Miriel!" cried the Elf over and over, shaking her and trying to wake her. "You can't die, Miriel! Lady Miriel!"

But she was gone. Legolas fell over her cold lifeless body and wept brokenly as the sun slipped below the horizon and darkness covered the night sky.


	26. FANGORN FOREST

FANGORN FOREST

Gimli was skipping lightly over the battlefield, whirling his axe and laughing softly to himself.

"He he! Twenty-nine! I've got that Elf this time!"

The Dwarf came running up at the sound of Legolas's desperate cry. He saw Miriel lying in Legolas's arms and blood on her dress, and he thought she was wounded.

"Oh no, not Lady Miriel," he muttered. "Legolas! Put her on Arod! We've got to get her to Aragorn, quick!"

Slowly Legolas sat up, his back to the Dwarf.

"No," Legolas answered quietly.

"Why not?" cried Gimli. "Aragorn can fix her! Remember what he did for Eowyn and Faramir and the Hobbits? It was almost miraculous! A few crushed leaves of Athelas in a pot of boiling water and… poof! She'll be on her feet in no time!"

Legolas stiffly rose, but he did not turn or look at Gimli.

"There is nothing even King Elessar can do for the dead," Legolas replied.

"What! She's not- oh no." Gimli stepped closer to Miriel to see for himself and stared at her in horror and disbelief. "Oh no. This cannot be! Lady Miriel? Dead?"

Legolas nodded sadly. Gimli stood motionless next to the Elf, shocked and stunned beyond words, looking down on the fallen princess.

"We failed to protect her," the Dwarf murmured. "I'm so sorry, Laddie." Then for once in his life Gimli son of Gloin fell silent.

Legolas bent down and removed the arrow from Miriel's chest since she could no longer feel the pain. It came up with little effort. Legolas gazed at the evil dart for a moment, then in a fury he seized it between his hands and snapped it in two and cast the pieces violently aside in the bloodstained grass. An arrow was such a small thing, yet in a single instant this one had undone months of heartrending labors and stolen away countless future years of love and happiness.

Legolas gently gathered Miriel's lifeless form into his arms. He gave a shrill whistle and shouted something in his own language. From deep in the night came a wild whinny and the sound of approaching hooves, and Kaspir materialized like a shadow melting out of the darkness with Arod glistening in the starlight at his side. Gimli took the reins of the horses and followed Legolas as they went to join the Rohirrim.

One of the Riders of Rohan was truly a rider, for he still had his horse. Another horseless soldier knelt nearby binding the leg wound of a third with a white cloth. They were all that had survived the ambush. They looked up sharply and instinctively reached for their swords as the Elf and the Dwarf approached. The Rohirrim sobered when they saw Legolas's burden.

"It is a sad day," murmured one, looking down sorrowfully on Miriel's cold face.

"What shall we do?" asked another.

"We cannot stay here," answered Legolas, but his eyes were empty and his voice, although stern and commanding, was toneless. "We will bury the dead in the morning. Tonight we must leave this place and make camp nearby, but not here. Give the wounded man the princess's horse."

Silently they followed the Elf's orders. The horseless soldier took Arod, and Gimli walked behind Legolas who still carried Miriel. The sad procession slowly made their way from the battlefield in the direction of Fangorn Forest. They would stay at the edge of its dark eaves that night.

As the weary Rohirrim dismounted and started a fire for supper, Legolas directed Gimli to take the cloak from Legolas's back. It was his Elven cloak from the fair woods of Lothlorien, wrought by Galadriel herself. Gimli unclasped the green and silver leaf brooch at the Elf's throat and did as he was told, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles in the gray fabric as he spread it over the grass. Legolas gently laid Miriel upon it and reluctantly left her for a while under Gimli's watch.

Legolas ran through the dark forest and gathered an armful of branches. He returned, glanced at the sky, selected a place on a low-rising hill under the light of Earendil, the evening star, and dropped his load.

"What are you doing?" asked Gimli, but Legolas did not stop to reply. He vanished into Fangorn. In a moment he reappeared with more fallen tree limbs. Again he dashed into the gloomy forest, and each time he came out he deposited more sticks or a thick bundle of golden leaves upon the chosen hill.

At once Gimli understood: The Elf was building a bier for Miriel.

Once he had all his supplies, Legolas immediately set to work, and Gimli helped as much as he was able. They labored feverishly with a will. Soon a wooden framework bound with leather thongs took shape on the hilltop, and they filled it in and cushioned it with piles of the soft leaves. Legolas gathered Miriel in his arms and Gimli swept the cloak out from under her and draped it carefully over the bier. Legolas lovingly laid Miriel upon it, and she shone white as snow in the sparkling starlight. Gimli and Legolas stepped back together and gazed sadly at Miriel as she slept.

"Thank you, Gimli," said the Elf quietly, and Gimli nodded.

"She's still beautiful," murmured Gimli. He stood silently beside Legolas, and then he went to the fire and left him alone.

Legolas would not leave Miriel's side, not even to eat supper. Gimli offered to bring him food, but the Elf refused. He wasn't hungry, he said. Gimli understood what Legolas was going through and ordered the other soldiers to let him alone.

Legolas stood and waited and watched. The Rohirrim and Gimli crawled into their bedrolls on the ground, and soon they could be heard snoring softly. The fire burned low to brilliant orange embers. Legolas's body was motionless as he stared down at Miriel, but his mind was not.

His thought strayed out of that dark place, to another rainy night from long ago, back in Helm's Deep. A night filled with dread and Orcs and fear of death. And suddenly, out of the thick blackness, came a single glimmer of white.

Hope. Love. Beauty. Lady Miriel.

_Why did she have to die?_

A single tear slowly made its lonely passage down the Elf's cheek, and Legolas glanced up at Miriel where she lay, motionless, under the light of Earendil. Legolas gasped, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.

Miriel looked different. Her dirty, torn, bloodstained dress was replaced by a shimmering white gown of silk and lace and trimmed with gold. The humble bier had been turned into a rich bed of crystal, inlaid with intricate designs of mithril and diamonds. Miriel's dark hair lay in soft waves about her head, and a silver crown wound about her brows. A peaceful expression was on her face. She looked more than ever like a sleeping queen.

Legolas approached her in awe. He glanced up at the star, which was sending shimmering rays down on Miriel. Earendil was bigger and brighter than Legolas had ever seen it. Miriel shone with a clear, almost liquid-smooth light. She looked beautiful and happy, and Legolas's heart hurt as he gazed upon her.

Suddenly he heard the distant sound of Elves singing. He turned and beheld lights glittering in parts of Fangorn Forest, as if from many torches; and his farsighted Elf eyes detected movement among the dark trees. He took a few steps away from Miriel, but he dared not leave her side. He peered through the gloom and saw Elves singing and dancing through Fangorn as they had not done for a long time.

As Legolas stared at them, he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, as if someone were watching him. He whirled around and beheld a great flash of light coming down toward him from the hills. As it got closer, its blinding glow lessened until Legolas could see the shape of a woman slowly materializing.

The woman was tall, clad all in white, with flowing hair that shimmered with jewels. Her eyes were like stars, and her face was translucent and brighter than sunlight on the snow. Legolas instantly fell on his knees before her.

It was Elbereth, the Starkindler, the greatest Queen of the Elves. Legolas trembled in her presence, and he found he could not look at her. Elbereth began to speak in Legolas's own tongue.

"Well met, Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas bowed his head in acknowledgment, but he was too astonished and fearful to reply. Elbereth turned her piercing gaze away from Legolas, to his relief, and looked with gentle pity upon the sleeping maiden.

"This is the mortal you love? Miriel of Rohan?" asked Elbereth.

"Yes, er, your majesty," replied Legolas hesitantly, for he could think of no other way to properly address her.

Elbereth glanced at Legolas and smiled, and Legolas immediately relaxed. He sensed that Elbereth could be great and terrifying, but she was all benevolence where Miriel was concerned, and that touched and softened Legolas's heart.

"What happened?" Elbereth questioned him.

"Do you not know?" cried Legolas in surprise, and then the floodgates burst open inside of him and he poured out the story of how he and Miriel met, and all their endless waiting and long trials together, and how Miriel would not say yes to him because she did not want him to be cut off from his people; and when Legolas finally prevailed on her to change her mind, he told how they were ambushed by Warg riders on the way to Minas Tirith and Miriel had fallen to an arrow.

Elbereth listened quietly and with great sympathy. At length Legolas came to the end of his tale and fell silent, choked with grief after reliving his experiences.

Elbereth approached Legolas and smiled on him, and she placed a gentle hand on his forehead as he knelt before her.

At once Legolas's tears were taken away as if by a cool clear breeze that blows from the highest mountaintops and sweeps down the steep slopes. Legolas gazed up at Elbereth in wonder as she turned away and moved to Miriel's side.

"I do not wish you to be lost to us either, Legolas Greenleaf," Elbereth said.

"My heart is already lost," Legolas answered.

"Come to the West," urged Elbereth, looking at him with those frighteningly beautiful eyes that unnerved him and fascinated him both at once. "Miriel has gone home to her people, and it's time you did the same."

Legolas sighed and stared hard at the ground as if his life depended on it.

"I cannot," he replied quietly.

"Why?" Elbereth asked.

"Because, I love her," Legolas choked.

"She is gone. You cannot follow her," Elbereth stated. Her voice turned to steely ice. "There is nothing for you here."

"There is nothing for me in the Undying Lands either," answered Legolas, matching her tone. "I will die of a broken heart. I will not leave without Miriel."

"You are a fool," said Elbereth coldly. "You seek the impossible."

"No!" shouted Legolas. He sprang to his feet and faced the great Starkindler boldly. "It is not impossible. It is within your power to bring her back, and you know it!"

"Miriel has been happily reunited with her family now," Elbereth replied. "It's high time you were reunited with yours."

Legolas looked away. "I'm sorry, your majesty. I can't. I love Miriel, and I will not abandon her, even now that she's dead. I know it sounds crazy, but it's as simple and as complicated as that."

Elbereth softened a little.

"It is only because you have never seen the great beauty of the Undying Lands that you speak in this rash manner," she said. "You can't even begin to imagine that wonderful place as it stands for all eternity shining under sun and moon, a far green country and glittering white sands where the silver waves lap gently on the shores and the gulls cry your name; and green and golden forests filled with the loveliest trees whose glory never fades, and bright meadows of flowers that never lose their petals in any season. If Arwen Undomiel had but a single glance of Valinor, she would have never chosen a mortal life."

"You speak truly," answered Legolas steadily. "And it might be for me also. Yet I venture to say that you underestimate the power of love. As for myself, I have not seen this land which you speak of in such glowing terms, and I can yet resist its pull. My heart is here. I will choose Arwen's fate, even if it still means I will never see Miriel again. An immortal existence without Miriel would be torture. I would welcome death, for then I would be free of my unbearable suffering and not have to spend my remaining days with this terrible sorrow."

Elbereth stared steadily at him, a hard glance that would have made any other quail and tremble before her, but Legolas met her gaze unflinchingly.

Suddenly Elbereth's face changed, like the sun coming out from behind dark storm clouds. Her eyes glittered, and she laughed, a warm musical laugh that sent a chill through Legolas. Legolas was startled by the abrupt transformation, and some of his boldness slipped. He stood by uncertainly, not sure what to do next.

"You pass the test," declared Elbereth, and her voice held nothing but benevolence and kindness.

"Wha- what test?" Legolas stammered.

"True love is a rare gift," Elbereth replied with a dazzling smile. "It can pass through fire and come out shining like gold. Thus is your love for the Lady Miriel, and it will save her."

Legolas was stunned. A ray of hope dawned in his eyes.

"You mean- she's coming back?" he burst out breathlessly.

Elbereth did not reply, but she glowed with joy as she turned and stretched her long white arms toward Earendil. The singing of the Elves in the distance swelled to a crescendo, and light blazed unhindered from the star. In the midst of the sudden tumult Legolas caught Elbereth's voice rising high and free above the others, as she cried:

Tolo ad na cuil, Miriel!

Cabed am a linno!

Meleth ava-awartho le,

Breitho na i le-onnen na no!

Legolas also heard the queen speaking to him inside his mind.

"Because of the great love you bear one another, and in honor of your role in the War of the Ring, and Miriel's also, I will grant your request. Speak of this to no one, Legolas Greenleaf, except your companion Elf-friend, the one known as Gimli, son of Gloin. It is critical that Miriel should not be seen by anyone. She must leave at once. Do not delay. Put Miriel on the ship and take her away from Middle-earth as soon as you can, before she is discovered."

The light of the star expanded its bright rays until Legolas could no longer see Elbereth or Miriel. Suddenly there was a blinding flash and a powerful explosion of white nothingness. Legolas was thrown to the ground from the sheer force.

Legolas landed hard on his back and found himself a moment later staring up at the stars in a night sky streaked with pale yellow shades of approaching dawn. Legolas picked himself up and looked around, disoriented and wondering where he was. Then he remembered what had happened.

Delight flooded through him. He leaped to his feet and looked around. There was Miriel lying on the bier, just as she had been when Elbereth was there.

But something was not right. Miriel was no longer arrayed as a shining queen. Her crown was missing, and her gray dress was torn and bloody once more. The crystal bed of mithril and diamonds had vanished. Worst of all, Legolas saw that no change had come over Miriel herself as she lay on her humble bier of golden leaves and wood.

Legolas's spirits sank in despair. He was heartsick. He had meant to stay awake by her side and had fallen asleep in his grief instead. Elbereth's blessed coming and that brilliant star shining down upon Miriel had been nothing more than a dream.

It was a cruel dream, to take him to the heights of happiness and then smash him upon the sharp rocks below, leaving his dashed soul in ruins without a candle of hope. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes as Legolas dragged his heavy feet to her bedside.

"Oh, Miriel," he cried in broken anguish, and he took her limp hand into his own.

He nearly dropped it again in shock. His eyes shot open. He reached out and touched her hand again, just to be sure.

It was true. Miriel's hand was warm!

Legolas bent over her and studied her face. Her cheeks were flushed slightly with faint color, as if life were returning slowly to her body. Legolas trembled violently as he watched in disbelief. He hardly dared to hope.

Suddenly he seized her by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake.

"Miriel! Miriel! Can you hear me? Miriel!"

There was no response. But as Legolas beheld her, she seemed to turn the color of a young white rose that grows a soft pink as it blooms. He shook her again.

"Miriel! Come back!"

Miriel heaved a tremendous sigh as if she were awakening from a deep night's sleep and began breathing normally. Her eyelids fluttered open, showing a bright shimmer of silver-gray beneath her dark lashes.

"Alastar," she murmured groggily.

Legolas was overjoyed. Miriel was alive! She was awake and speaking! He smothered her in a hug and covered her face with kisses, laughing and crying as the sun broke over the horizon. Miriel slowly came to her senses.

"Legolas!" she shrieked joyfully as she threw her arms around his neck.

Immediately Legolas felt a cold prickle of fear and remembered Elbereth's warning. Swiftly he covered Miriel's mouth with his fingers and gave an anxious glance over his shoulder.

"Stay quiet!" he hissed anxiously.

But it was all right. The Rohirrim were sleeping soundly and did not hear. But the point was driven home. He turned back to Miriel and looked into her shining eyes.

"We have need of haste, my lady," Legolas said quietly, glancing in the direction of the camp. "They mustn't know about this."

Miriel looked upon the soldiers and nodded gravely. Legolas smiled and kissed her almost desperately.

"Can you believe this?" he cried, grinning wildly.

"Not hardly," answered Miriel, beaming back at Legolas. "It's almost too good to be true."

"Thanks to Elbereth!" Legolas glanced gratefully upward at the sky as Earendil vanished in the morning light.

"She came to me," said Miriel as Legolas took her hand and helped her stand. Miriel swayed and Legolas caught her to him. He held her firmly until she found her balance, and then he did not let her go and kept her near in his arms. He still found it hard to comprehend that she was actually awake and speaking to him, but when he held her close, he could feel warmth and life surging through her body. The dream was slowly becoming reality.

"Who came to you? Elbereth?" asked Legolas.

Miriel nodded absently. She was studying the place where the arrow had pierced her heart. The wound had vanished without leaving a scar, with only the torn dress and bloodstains remained to remind her that the dart had ever been there at all.

"Elbereth visited me in my dreams also," replied Legolas. "What happened with you?"

"I was with my family," continued Miriel. "I was overjoyed to see them all, and they looked so happy… and so beautiful… and I was thrilled to be with them again, but it was not right. We were in a perfect land, and it was a lovely place, but knew I would never find rest or peace there. And then She came and offered me the ultimate choice, and a test. I made my choice and I passed the test. So She let me say goodbye to my parents and my brothers one last time, and then I was here."

Miriel looked into the distance, and a shadow clouded her face. "I shall miss them," she added wistfully.

Legolas was crushed. "I'm so sorry, Miriel," he whispered. "Maybe this was a bad idea-"

"No, my love," answered Miriel quickly, and she looked deep into Legolas's blue eyes. Her gaze was bold, and she was stern and resolute. "I have made my decision. I would not, and could not now change my mind, even if it were still possible." She smiled. "I love you more than anything, Legolas."

Legolas's face slowly broke into a grin, and he swept her into his arms and kissed her with great intensity. She hugged his neck and kissed him in return, letting him hold her and delighting in his presence, which she thought she had lost forever.

Miriel pulled away after a moment. "Something's different," she said hesitantly. "Everything's- everything's changed somehow."

Legolas's blue eyes grew worried. "What's wrong, my lady?" he asked.

"I- I don't know," stammered Miriel, putting a hand to her forehead. "I feel- different. Nothing's the same."

Legolas gazed at her in concern. Even the merest notion of losing her again was an unbearable thought, and it made him sharp and impatient.

"What do you mean?" he snapped. "Speak to me, Miriel, quickly!"

"Like… well…" Miriel searched for the right words. "My emotions are more calm. I feel bigger on the inside. Like I've been transformed from a lake into an ocean."

Legolas frowned. "Tell me more," he ordered, but some of the edge had gone from his voice. "I can't understand you, Miriel. You're not making sense."

"I know," she answered. "I can't understand it myself. But I can feel the grass and the trees growing and changing around me, as if I have become sensitive to the very pulse of the earth. I feel… I feel life, Legolas," she struggled as she attempted to explain. "It's like… like that!" Suddenly Miriel pointed. "I can hear better than before! There is a flock of birds flying over yonder horizon. Can you see them? And they're talking. Did you know that? Birds can talk. They are speaking to each other, telling each other about-"

She cut herself off and gasped. "There! You see?" Miriel gestured wildly. "I can understand what they are saying!"

Legolas raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

"What's more," continued Miriel in growing excitement, "I can see them. I can see those birds, Legolas!"

"Uh, yes, I can see them too," Legolas slowly admitted. He eyed Miriel cautiously, wondering if she was in her right mind. "What are you… getting at?"

"I can easily distinguish each individual bird in that flock," declared Miriel with fierce conviction. "But they are flying at least a league yonder, if not two. They are so far away that I should hardly be able to see them at all, or perhaps I should have mistaken them for nothing but a fuzz of a cloud over the distant hills!"

Legolas stopped and stood still as stone. His mouth had dropped open. It was Miriel's turn to look worried.

"Legolas? Are you all right?"

Suddenly Legolas rushed at her and swept the hair back from her face. Miriel was startled, and her eyes widened, but she did not move.

"What are you doing, Legolas?" she cried.

Legolas released her just as quickly and stepped back, staring at her in an odd manner.

"You're an Elf, Miriel," was his stunned response.

Miriel blinked. "What did you say?"

Legolas repeated his statement.

"What? How do you know that?" asked Miriel.

"Your ears," replied Legolas. An incredulous smile spread over his face. "Miriel, your ears- they're pointed!"

Miriel's hands flew to the sides of her face. She had to feel it for herself before she would believe it. Sure enough, the tops of her ears were two spiky points where they had once been smooth and rounded. A little laugh escaped her.

"I'm an Elf," she murmured, as if she were testing the sound of the words and trying them on for size. "I'm an Elf."

"You're an Elf," said Legolas tenderly. "You're one of us now." He pulled her close and kissed her again.

Suddenly one of the soldiers grunted loudly in his sleep. Miriel and Legolas drew apart and stared anxiously at the camp, but fortunately the Rohirrim remained still and snoring.

"How could they have slept through all this?" hissed Miriel. "We've been too excited to keep quiet, and I'm sure we've made enough noise to have awakened everyone back in Edoras!"

"I think Elbereth has something to do with it," answered Legolas reverently. "That flash of starlight nearly knocked me out, and I was already awake in the first place. Who knows what it did to them? But let's not trust our luck to it! We've got to get out of here, at once!"

Legolas took Miriel's hand and ran to the horses. He boosted Miriel onto Kaspir's saddleless back and gave her the reins. He sprang upon Arod and was just about to turn and gallop into Fangorn Forest when a gruff voice stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going, Laddie?"

Miriel and Legolas both jumped.

"Gimli!" Miriel cried.

Gimli paled in fear when he saw the princess as if he thought she were a ghost.

"Miriel? Lady Miriel?" he said, astonished. "Legolas, what trickery is this?"

"There's no time to talk now," answered Legolas curtly, but he smiled at Gimli. "It's not trickery. Miriel has been sent back to us. But I'll explain later. In the meantime, there is much to be done. Wake them up and fix breakfast. Do not speak of Miriel! Tell them I will return and take them out to the battlefield to help them bury their dead comrades shortly. Explain that I have gone into Fangorn to mourn."

Gimli nodded dumbly and watched as horses and riders vanished in the dark trees.

"First Gandalf, then those charmed Hobbits, and now Lady Miriel," Gimli muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "It seems as if nobody can die these days, or else the heavens are getting too populated to receive any more occupants and the Valar are forced to turn folks away and send everyone back to Middle-earth!"


	27. THE LAST JOURNEY

THE LAST JOURNEY

The Rohirrim were just finishing their breakfast when Legolas appeared out of the shadows of the forest on Arod and leading a riderless and saddleless Kaspir beside him. Legolas seemed suitably melancholy, but Gimli caught a faint sparkle in the Elf's blue eyes. The soldiers looked Legolas over as he rode into camp.

"Would you like some breakfast?" asked one of the men rather awkwardly, offering Legolas some of their cooked food as the Elf dismounted and tied the horses.

Legolas declined politely and took out a small cake of Lembas wrapped in a mallorn leaf instead. While he nibbled on it, Gimli sidled up to him to ask him questions, but Legolas stopped him with a sharp warning glance.

"Later," was all he said. Legolas broke off a piece of Lembas for himself and gave the rest to Gimli, for he knew how fond the Dwarf was of the Elven waybread.

"Where did you go?" asked a second soldier curiously. "Where's Princess Miriel?"

"I buried her deep in the heart of Fangorn Forest," answered Legolas, bowing his head in feigned sorrow.

The Rohirrim exchanged glances. "Um... Legolas, we really must protest," said the first soldier tentatively. "Lady Miriel was adopted by the Royal House, and it is our custom in Rohan to only bury those of that House in-"

"I loved Miriel!" Legolas interrupted him with fierce anger. "I would have married her, had she still lived! I have buried her under the trees according to the customs of my own people. I had every right to! If you have a problem with that, go to Edoras and speak to King Eomer yourself!"

The soldiers nodded halfheartedly and looked as if they wanted to argue further, but they decided against it. They fell silent and let Legolas alone.

Before the hot afternoon sun could blaze down on them, the Rohirrim packed up camp and Legolas led them to the battlefield. The wounded man rode double with one soldier on a horse, and the other soldier took his own horse.

Gimli rode with Legolas on Arod, but the Dwarf said nothing on the journey. He was still in awe of Legolas's outburst, and although he ached to know what had really happened with Miriel, he knew the Elf would not deem it safe to speak of it until the Rohirrim were gone. Gimli respected Legolas's temper enough not to ask.

Legolas ordered the soldiers to bury only their own and leave the Orcs and Wargs where they lie scattered over the fields. When their work was finished, Legolas stood quietly looking sorrowfully over the fresh mound and murmuring an Elven prayer under his breath. At last he turned and faced the Rohirrim.

"Go home," he commanded. "Your duty is done. Return to Edoras and tell King Eomer what evil has befallen us."

The men stood without moving and looking sheepish. Finally one spoke up. "What about you?" he ventured.

"There is nothing more for me here," Legolas replied with an empty sigh. "I will wander awhile through the forest until I decide to return to Edoras. My heart is torn and heavy, and I doubt it will ever be whole again, for I have lost the one thing most precious to me. I must search long for some meaning in life, although I know I shall not find it."

The man did not answer, for Legolas's emotional speech choked them up. Gimli found that his own throat was too tight to speak. Legolas took Kaspir from the soldiers and gave them Arod instead.

"Kaspir was Lady Miriel's horse, and he's all I have left of her," he explained. "So I will keep him. Take Arod to Edoras instead. He is a horse of Rohan and a good mount of your noble company. King Eomer loaned him to me when we first met. If I return to Edoras someday, I will collect Arod then."

The Rohirrim silently nodded, and they departed slowly for Edoras. Gimli and Legolas stood together watching them go. When they had all but disappeared on the distant horizon, Legolas turned to Gimli and his sober face broke into a smile. He threw the Dwarf a wink.

"Let's go!" he cried happily, springing lightly aboard Miriel's horse. He pulled a surprised Gimli up behind him and took off for Fangorn at a full gallop.

Gimli was speechless as they flew into the dark forest. The gloom enveloped them and choked out the sunlight. The blackness made Gimli nervous, and he clung tighter to Legolas as he kept a wide eye out for any sign of trouble. Arod slowed down as the foliage thickened. Gimli found himself keeping a sharp eye out for trouble as Kaspir walked through the trees. They twisted and turned through the dense underbrush until Gimli had lost all sense of direction, but Legolas did not falter. He seemed to know exactly where they were going, and Gimli trusted him.

"Legolas?" asked the Dwarf at length.

"Yes?"

"I don't believe you."

Legolas craned around in surprise and gave Gimli a questioning look.

"Elves are immortal," Gimli declared. "They don't have any burial customs. You made that up."

Legolas laughed softly. "It's a good thing the Rohirrim do not know as much about the Elves as you, Gimli," Legolas said over his shoulder.

Suddenly they stopped. Legolas looked carefully in every direction, scanning the darkness with his keen Elven eyes. Gimli waited expectantly. At last Legolas was satisfied and he gazed straight up into one of the trees.

"Tolo si, meleth nin!" Legolas called softly.

At first nothing happened. Then there was a sharp snap of a twig and the sound of something stirring in the treetops. Before Gimli could look up, Miriel dropped lightly to the ground from an unknown height. Gimli gasped in surprise.

"Lady Miriel!" he cried.

Miriel laughed softly. It was a far more musical laugh than Gimli had ever heard from her before. Gimli noticed that Miriel seemed fairer than ever, her movements were lighter and quicker and more graceful, and her dancing gray eyes seemed like real stars, glittering brighter than mithril silver and sparkling like diamonds.

Miriel came toward them, her dark hair flowing softly in her wake.

"Everything is in order, my lady," said Legolas, leaping down from Kaspir and taking her in his arms. "There is now only one more journey that lies ahead of us."

"Wait just a minute!" blustered the Dwarf. "Hold everything! I heard nothing about this other little trip, and I'm still wondering why Miriel is up and about, walking and talking as if she's just had a good night's sleep when not that long ago she was supposed to be dead. Nobody explains anything to me, and I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers!"

Gimli folded his arms across his chest and glared down at the two Elves, then nearly lost his balance and clutched wildly at the saddlehorn and barely saved himself from toppling to the ground in a most undignified manner. Legolas and Miriel took one look at him and burst out laughing, but they helped Gimli down from Kaspir's back and sat him on a old log. There they rested together and ate Lembas bread, and Gimli smoked his pipe while Legolas and Miriel took turns telling the story in all its glorious detail. Gimli was obviously beside himself when they finished.

"You leave out all the mushy kissing parts and it makes for a fair tale," Gimli commented dryly, but he could not conceal his excitement. "So you're an Elf now, Lady Miriel! You get to go to the Undying Lands when you get sick of Middle-earth. Why couldn't I be lucky enough to meet with an arrow and see the Lady Elbereth, who, from your descriptions, may be the only one who might possibly match Galadriel's great beauty, since none could ever surpass it?"

"You wouldn't really want to be changed into an Elf, now, would you?" replied Miriel with a sly grin.

"Well, no," replied Gimli immediately. Then his eyes flashed indignantly as he caught the full meaning of Miriel's words. "No! Of course not!" the Dwarf sputtered, coughing out a smoke ring. "Me, an Elf? Never! You'll not catch Gimli son of Gloin learning to speak that whole sissy language and floating around like a weird little cloud under the trees singing about stars and twilight and whatever lies on the other side of the ocean!"

Legolas choked on his Lembas.

"Sissy language? Weird little clouds?" cried Legolas, pretending to be insulted but grinning in spite of himself. "Is that what you think of the Elves?"

"Yes, pretty much. Well, all of them except you, Legolas. And you, Miriel," Gimli put in quickly with an apologetic glance in Miriel's direction. "You're a great warrior, Legolas, for an Elf."

"Thank you, my good Dwarf," returned Legolas, laughing heartily. "You're very kind, and you keep me humble."

Gimli chuckled and decided to let the comment slide. He sent up another smoke ring before he spoke again.

"So now that Miriel's back as a perfect Elf, and we can't tell anyone, what do we do?" asked Gimli. "I'm going to guess this is the part where you will tell me we're about to embark on the next leg of the mysterious journey."

"You guess correctly," replied Legolas.

"And the destination?"

"We're going to the Sea."

Gimli's smile vanished and he paled under his thick red beard as he caught the meaning in the Elf's words.

"But... why? You're getting rid of her awful quick, Legolas, don't you think? Didn't you want to keep her around for awhile?"

Legolas sighed.

"Alas, yes," he said. "But we can't. Miriel would be discovered in due time if she stayed. Elbereth left strict instructions for Miriel to depart Middle-earth at once."

"That wasn't very fair of Elbereth," Gimli grumbled. "Galadriel's a lot nicer."

Miriel and Legolas glanced at each other and exchanged grim smiles.

"This is the way it has to be," Legolas declared resignedly, but his voice fell flat.

"We are still far from the Sea, so it will be a slow journey," put in Miriel. "We have a long separation ahead of us, indeed; but it is a small comfort to know that at least this parting is not forever."

Gimli looked cross. "So what about the two of us then, Legolas? What will we do? Ride around causing trouble and arguing about whose race is the best?"

"Well sure," answered Legolas with a playful grin. "Of course. But aside from that, we'll return to Minas Tirith and assist King Elessar in his reign. I want to see all our labors come to fruition before I sail into the West. We worked long and hard to see Aragorn safely to the throne that I am loathe to leave him now. Besides, people would become suspicious if the two of us disappeared without a trace. If we were less famous, that would be one thing, but being members of the Fellowship we might be missed."

"Why is it that we can't let Miriel be seen by anyone?" asked the Dwarf.

"Mortals are not supposed to go to Valinor at all, and if any Men discovered that one of their own had been transformed into an Elf, well! That could cause a whole realm of problems, not the least of them being jealousy," said Legolas. "Jealousy of Elves and immortality were the downfall of Numenor in the first place. None of the Valar, and certainly not Elbereth, would want that to happen again, not in Middle-earth. I'm sure Elbereth was taking a great risk in doing this for us. We have to trust her, for she was truly wisest in the matter."

"Will Miriel vanish in a puff of smoke if someone sees her?" said Gimli.

Miriel's eyes widened, and she gave a nervous giggle.

"Miriel won't be seen at all if you would put out your pipe and stop sending up smoke signals," replied Legolas, grinning. Then he continued seriously, "No, Gimli, I really don't know what will happen if she is beheld by mortals. "But Elbereth was very specific about this. She said it was important that Miriel not be discovered."

Gimli folded his arms and drew his deep bushy eyebrows low over his fierce black eyes.

"Elbereth said, Elbereth said!" Gimli grouched. "If I hear that much oftener, I'm going to get upset! She should have let Miriel stay for a little longer than that. Galadriel would have found some way of letting her stay. I just know it. Elbereth could have... I don't know... made us invisible or something."

Miriel chuckled halfheartedly, then stopped and sobered. She stared at the green and golden treetops overhead, considering the world she was about to leave behind forever, and she was suddenly determined to no longer take any part of it for granted. Legolas was lost in his own thoughts, and Gimli smoked and had nothing more to say.

A heavy silence fell. Dark shadows lengthened through the trees as the afternoon slipped away. At last Gimli stirred and spoke.

"Since Elbereth said, I suppose we should get started then, eh?"

Legolas and Miriel returned to reality at once. The party of three stood up without a word and packed up their few belongings.

"Which way are we going?" Gimli asked, stuffing his pipe into the saddlebag. "There are many roads that lead to the Sea."

"Indeed," Legolas replied. "But we must be careful that we are not seen for Miriel's sake. We will travel only after nightfall and stay within the shadows of the forest as long as possible. Then we'll take the Gap of Rohan and follow the Fords of Isen, but we will need to stay away from Isengard, for it and all the paths leading to it have been well guarded at Gandalf's command after Saruman's treachery. We will stay to the River Isen, for it is, unfortunately, the shortest way to the Sea and we will have the best chance of going unnoticed in that part of the land."

"A sound plan," approved Gimli. "I don't like the thought of staying in this creepy wood any longer than necessary. But I traveled through it once before and got out just fine, so I will endure it once more with you."

Legolas shook his head and flashed a dazzling smile. "You never cease to amaze me, Gimli," said Legolas warmly. "Thank you."

"Humph! Elbereth said," muttered Gimli gruffly, but Miriel could see the corner of Gimli's braided red mustache curling upward in a concealed smile, and she knew he was pleased.

Miriel swirled her gray cloak about her and pulled the hood low over her face, for she did not wish to be seen or recognized by any that chanced to come upon them, and Gimli's question about vanishing in a puff of smoke had a effect on her. Legolas boosted Gimli onto Kaspir's back and gave him the reins.

"You are becoming quite a horseman, for a Dwarf," approved Legolas. "You will be riding alone, for I will walk ahead of you with Miriel. We have much to say to one another."

"I'm sure you do," returned the Dwarf dryly.

They set out in the late afternoon, when the forest was filled with the rich earthy scents of sun-warmed bark and lush dewy grasses that were crisp as fresh lettuce when trod upon and smelled like a spring rain. Miriel and Legolas walked hand in hand and spoke in soft voices. Gimli trailed behind them. He was having some trouble, and a constant stream of growling and shouting filled the air behind the two Elves.

"Whoa, horse! Whoa! Get outta those plants, you beastie! You already had plenty of breakfast! Come on, come on! Gee up! We're gonna lose them!"

"If he doesn't keep quiet-" began Legolas under his breath, but his voice trailed off.

"We'll be discovered," finished Miriel, glancing about nervously.

Legolas tolerated it as long as he was able, but at last he sighed and turned to go back and help the Dwarf. As he did so, Miriel gripped his arm and gave a little cry.

"Look!" she hissed, ducking low. "Did you see that?"

Legolas hastily scanned far ahead through the trees, but he saw nothing.

"No. What was it?" he whispered anxiously.

"I don't know. But- wait! There! There it is again!"

This time Legolas caught a brilliant flash of white and gold before it was lost in the gloom. Instantly he swept his bow from his back and fitted an arrow to the string with hands that moved quicker than sight, ready to shoot should the need arise. He motioned frantically for Gimli to stop making so much noise and crouched low to the ground.

They waited tensely, hardly daring to breathe. Nothing stirred in the trees. Softly Legolas moved forward, keeping behind the shelter of Fangorn's dense undergrowth, and Miriel followed him.

"No, my lady," Legolas commanded in a whisper. "Stay behind with Gimli."

Miriel stubbornly shook her head. "I'm coming with you," she replied, and then as if to justify her decision she quickly added, "I saw it first."

Legolas opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He smiled but did not argue. He took Miriel's hand, and together they slipped through the trees, staying hidden as much as possible.

As they crept through the wood, they beheld far ahead a glade that seemed out of place in dark Fangorn. It was surrounded by bright green bushes laden heavily round blue fruits and bearing flowers as translucent as living diamonds when they happened to catch a sunray. The tangled foliage grew thick and acted as a natural protective fortress. Miriel was enchanted.

"I've never seen anything like it," murmured Miriel in awed tones. She took a step toward the strange thicket, but Legolas placed a hand on her arm and stopped her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I want to see this place," answered Miriel.

"Don't," warned Legolas. "You don't know what's in there. It could be dangerous."

"It's too beautiful to be deadly," replied Miriel, shaking her arm free. "I'm going anyways."

"Please don't!" Legolas cried desperately, holding her back as Miriel's gaze stayed longingly into the thicket. "We can't risk it, Miriel. You're feeling your new Eldar emotions stirring inside of you. But there are other safer places in Middle-earth to explore. We really should leave."

"My heart tells me it's all right," declared Miriel determinedly. She smiled at Legolas. "Please. I really want to see inside this lovely glade before we go."

Legolas hesitated. He did not want anything to happen to Miriel, but he did not want to deny her least request. Legolas stood thoughtfully for a while, and then he spoke.

"If you are determined, then I will go with you," he said at last. "In truth, I wish to see it also."

Miriel smiled and crept forward with Legolas at her side. He was tense and alert for the first sign of trouble and gripped his bow firmly. Miriel was aware of his strong arm and unfailing aim, but even with this reassurance, Miriel found herself trembling nervously as they approached the thicket. When Miriel reached the green wall, she stopped uncertainly and swallowed hard.

But she had come this far, and she would not turn back. Taking a deep breath, Miriel took hold of the thick branches and quickly pushed them aside. To her surprise, they opened easily under her hand as if she were merely drawing back a thin curtain. Miriel gasped and stared in wonder.

There, in the middle of the enchanted glade, lay a massive golden lion surrounded by purple flowers. His mane shone like a fiery mantle over his powerful shoulders, and his eyes blazed like a sunset. A tiny white lamb cuddled against him without the least fear, sound asleep and snoring peacefully with a lamb-smile on his velvety baby muzzle.

Miriel was astonished at the spellbinding sight. Her gray eyes glittered with delight. She drew Legolas toward her so he could see the lion and the lamb for himself, and she watched as Legolas beheld the strange pair and the apprehension left his face.

"What do you make of it?" Miriel whispered to him.

Legolas was speechless. Slowly he shook his head and did not answer. He was as awestruck as Miriel.

Suddenly there came a shrill whinny that sounded like a frightened cry, and at once a black horse bearing a golden horn on its forehead crashed through the green wall scattering leaves and flowers everywhere, its golden mane flying wildly in its wake and its dark eyes wide with terror. A snow-white doe leapt through the bushes behind the horse, looking back over her graceful shoulder. Immediately the horse and the deer shot across the enchanted meadow together, and the sight of such beautiful animals acting so frightened gave Miriel heart pains.

There was a terrible roar behind the fleeing creatures, and a snarling Warg burst through the ring of bushes and stood bristling. An evil light glinted in its bloodshot eyes as it swept its bleary gaze across the glade for its prey. The Warg spotted them flying away through the purple flowers, and it tore viciously after them.

The lion roused himself and had risen to his feet when he saw the Warg coming, and he bared his sharp teeth in preparation to do battle. But the lamb beside the lion gave a thin little bleat and ran around aimlessly in a circle, its knobby knees quivering in terror as he cried for help. The lion hesitated, torn between the will to attack the invader and the instinct to protect the tiny creature at his side. But at once he stooped, picked up the lamb in his massive jaws and bounded away to safety.

Miriel looked back at the Warg, which was rapidly eating up the distance between itself and its quarry. Miriel watched with her heart in her throat as it leaped toward the white doe, its ugly yellow fangs ready to sink into her soft hide. But suddenly the Warg let out a terrible squall and fell to the ground unconscious, as if it had suddenly hit an invisible wall, and lay still.

Miriel jumped up in shock and glanced at Legolas. Legolas stood with bent bow and no arrow. He had shot the Warg and saved the strange but lovely animals that bounded away into the woods. The magical glade was empty.

Miriel took several deep breaths to still her racing heart. Then she ran into the meadow toward the Warg. Legolas reached out too late to stop her and missed.

"Miriel!" cried Legolas. "Wait!"

"Come on!" insisted Miriel without breaking stride. Legolas dashed after her with his long knife drawn.

Miriel stopped beside the motionless Warg and saw that the creature was dead. Legolas's arrow was buried deep in its mangy shoulder, and even though the Warg was a loathsome animal, she still felt oddly sorry for it.

"Nice shot," Miriel murmured, but she wasn't looking at the Warg anymore. Her keen Elven eyes were searching the gloomy forest for any sign of the black horse and the snow-white doe. But they had disappeared without a trace, and Miriel couldn't help wondering if they were real.

"What just happened?" asked Miriel.

"I don't really know, it all went by so fast," answered Legolas. "But it's over now, and Gimli will be waiting and wondering what has become of us."

Miriel hesitated a moment longer, still staring through the trees for the vanished animals. Legolas also raised his eyes and scanned the distant trees, but he was not looking for the horse and doe or the lion and the lamb.

"I'm concerned, Miriel," said Legolas with trepidation. "Where there is one Warg, there are usually more nearby. They are running unchallenged through Fangorn as yet. That is a bad sign. The Rohirrim obviously have not yet made it this far. It's possible that we've stumbled on one of the last retreats of our enemies. When our former escort returns to Rohan, King Eomer will send riders right away, and then we will face a new kind of danger: The danger of discovery. We should go at once."

Miriel nodded and turned to go, but she gave a little cry and stopped dead.

There, standing motionless behind them, were the black horse with the gold horn and his companion, the snow-white doe, beside him. Miriel saw that the black horse was not a horse at all, but a unicorn with gold cloven hooves, bright gold mane and tail, and a gold horn in the middle of his forehead that gleamed in the sparse sunlight. The shining animals were gazing steadily at Miriel and Legolas without fear and an almost eerie calm, and Miriel had a feeling they had been there for some time quietly watching them. The thought made Miriel shiver nervously. It was nearly impossible to sneak up on Elves with their sharp ears, and Miriel shrank toward the side of Legolas, who was just as stunned as she was.

The animals and the Elves stood staring at each other without moving.

"Man garo le tolo an?" demanded Legolas sternly but without threat. It was a tone of voice that commanded obedience.

The unicorn and the doe bowed their heads at once and knelt at the feet of Miriel and Legolas. Miriel's fears vanished in an instant as she stared at them.

She frowned in puzzlement. "What are they doing?" she whispered to Legolas.

"We saved their lives, and now they are pledging their service," answered Legolas.

Miriel's eyes widened. "These are not ordinary creatures, are they." It wasn't a question.

Legolas shook his head, bent down and laid his hands lightly upon the foreheads of the noble beasts. Immediately the unicorn and the doe rose up and stood quietly before him.

"I have accepted their offer," Legolas told Miriel. "They will bear us swiftly to the edge of Fangorn, right to the gap of Rohan. Here, my lady, let me help you."

Legolas picked Miriel up and set her lightly on the back of the snow-white doe. The doe stood quietly beneath her, but Miriel could hardly breathe. She reached out a trembling hand and softly stroked the silky neck with her fingertips.

Legolas sprang onto the black unicorn. As soon as the Elf was settled, the unicorn bolted, and the doe bounded after him, but to Miriel's amazement the doe's strides were so smooth and gentle that there was no danger of falling off. Miriel found that she could keep a hold on the doe easily by laying her hands gently on the long downy neck. In a short time Miriel had lost her fear altogether and leaned forward to enjoy the ride.

"There you are!" came the familiar gruff voice. They had reached Gimli and Kaspir before Miriel realized where they were.

"This way, quickly!" called Legolas softly, and they waited for Gimli and Kaspir to catch up. Gimli's eyes were big and round as he looked at Legolas's new mount, and then Miriel's.

"What happened back there?" asked Gimli. "I was beginning to worry about you, but it looks like I needn't have."

As they rode through the forest together, Legolas briefly told the story to the amazed Dwarf.

"What do you suppose the lion and the lamb were doing together?" wondered Gimli. "That seemed kind of odd for such a terrible predator and his helpless prey to be cuddling peacefully in a meadow, don't you think?"

"That was odd," added Miriel.

"We should expect many changes of this kind," prophesied Legolas. "The King has returned, and his reign will affect all the land, even the animals. The world is changed. Old things have passed away. When I saw the lion and the lamb, I felt sure it was a sign, and I was glad."

"A sign perhaps," muttered Gimli. "But I wonder if this sign could be reasonably explained. Perhaps the lion had just eaten and was saving the little fluffball for a light snack later on."

Legolas laughed merrily and continued the tale, but Miriel wasn't listening anymore. She was eagerly watching the slim delicate legs of the doe rising and falling and sweeping lightly back over the ground. Miriel was entranced. She waited impatiently until Legolas finished talking with Gimli.

"Legolas, these animals are keeping pace with Kaspir without any trouble, and Kaspir is a very fast horse," Miriel commented at length. "But they hardly look like they're half trying!"

"It's not surprising," answered Legolas. "Unicorns are said to be the swiftest creatures in Middle-earth, surpassing even the greatest of the Mearas. This is the first unicorn I have ever seen with my own eyes, but from what I can tell, the tales of its fabled speed are not exaggerated. But I never knew unicorns came in black! The white doe, however, is a complete mystery to me. I did not know they existed at all, even in legends, so naturally I never imagined they roamed outside of stories."

"Naturally," put in Gimli, but he was just as intrigued as Legolas and Miriel.

"She's beautiful," Miriel breathed. "I want to name her."

Miriel stroked the doe's long, soft neck absently while she thought.

"She glides effortlessly over the earth with the grace of a swan," Miriel murmured dreamily. Suddenly she sat up straight.

"Swan!" she exclaimed. "Legolas! What's the Elvish word for 'swan'?"

"Alph," replied the Elf.

Miriel pursed her lips.

"It's too short and incomplete," she declared. "There must be more. Oh!" Miriel cried as they galloped out of the shadows through an open meadow. "How she glistens like endless white fields of untouched snow in the winter sun! How do you find a fitting name for such a lovely creature?"

Legolas smiled. "I think you've already named her," said Legolas.

"What do you mean?" wondered Miriel, leaning forward expectantly.

"Snow-swan," answered Legolas. "Alphlos."

"Alphlos!" exclaimed Miriel, then she lowered her voice and tried the word softly. "Alphlos, Alphlos. Yes, you're definitely an Alphlos."

The doe arched her neck and pranced higher as if she were pleased with her new name. Alphlos surged ahead, and Miriel reluctantly had to tell the doe to wait for the others, but Miriel was laughing.

"What about your unicorn, Legolas?" Miriel asked. "Have you decided on what to call him?"

"Alagos," replied Legolas. "It means 'windstorm'. This unicorn has a fierce and fiery spirit, and although he is allowing me to ride him, Alagos is truly quite wild. Alagos is certainly as swift as a windstorm, and given the chance I think he could easily outrun one."

"Alphlos and Alagos!" cried Miriel. "It's perfect!"

Gimli grunted.

"There are far more worthy-sounding names in Khazdul," muttered the Dwarf. "But you could have chosen worse. Snow-swans and windstorms aren't bad."

Towards nightfall they came upon a tiny stream and set up camp beside it. There was no need to tie Alphlos or Alagos, for they stayed near the travelers of their own accord and did not stray far even while they fed on choice white flowers called Simbelmyne, or Evermind. Kaspir was content to wander with them.

After supper, Gimli rolled out his cloak on the ground. Miriel prepared to do the same, but she sighed.

"I am not in the least bit sleepy," she murmured. "I don't know what's wrong with me! After a long day's ride like that, I should be ready to pass out for a week."

Legolas was kneeling on the banks of the stream drinking the cool refreshing waters, but when he heard Miriel's statement he choked with laughter.

"No wonder!" he sputtered, returning to the camp and wiping his dripping chin on his sleeve. "No wonder at all! You forget, my lady, that you're an Elf now, and the Elves don't sleep!"

Gimli chuckled deep in his thick, curly beard. Miriel leaped to her feet and danced in the red glare of the firelight.

"That means we can stay up all night and talk!" she cried in delight.

Gimli's laughter immediately ceased.

"Great," muttered the Dwarf.

"Yes it does," said Legolas with a smile. He took Miriel's hand and they walked toward the silver stream.

"Don't forget to wake me up in the morning," Gimli called after them. But there was no response, and the Dwarf wondered if they had even heard him. Gimli watched as Miriel and Legolas sat on a moonlit rock opposite each other, and it seemed as if they slipped away from Middle-earth into a world all their own. Already they were deep in conversation, but their words were lost in the sweet music of the flowing waters. After a moment Gimli shrugged his shoulders and crawled under his blanket.

"Love," Gimli grumbled, but he was grinning as he began to snore.

In the morning, Gimli awoke to find that Miriel and Legolas had not moved all night long. They were still sitting on the rocks near the stream and talking in the pale yellow light of dawn, and Legolas was teaching her to communicate in the Elvish way, without words, but simply by reading thoughts. Her progress was apparently slow in coming – she didn't catch on as quickly as she had with spoken Sindarin. After some muted laughter, they resorted to common speech. Gimli lay still with his hands folded behind his head and stared up through the leaves of Fangorn at the purple morning clouds as they drifted by, for, despite his gruff words, he was loathe to disturb them.

Besides, the Dwarf justified himself, they were in the middle of an intense discussion.

"That means we'll have to wait until we get to Valinor to marry," Miriel was saying.

"Yes," Legolas grimly agreed.

"They do have weddings in Valinor… don't they?" queried Miriel.

Legolas laughed. "Of course, luloth."

Miriel was puzzled. "Luloth? What does that mean?"

"Guess," teased Legolas. There was a mysterious merriment in his blue eyes that Miriel felt compelled to solve. She peered closer at him.

"I recognize _loth _as the word for flower," answered Miriel distractedly, for she was intent on studying him. "And _lu_… derived from _luth_, perhaps? Charmed-flower?"

Legolas nodded affirmatively, but there was a smile playing over his lips and his eyes were locked on Miriel's while she puzzled over his words.

"I'm thinking it must be the name of a kind of flower," decided Miriel finally. "But certainly a flower that I have never before heard of. Is it rare?"

Legolas grinned. "Very," he replied. "As a matter of fact, there is only one."

"One?" repeated Miriel in astonishment. "That's impossible!"

Legolas nodded. His hand caught hers, and his warm gaze lingered on her until suddenly understanding broke over Miriel. She gasped and blushed, and then she laughed, but there was no mistaking the obvious pleasure his words gave her. Legolas, for his part, was completely amused as he observed how his riddle affected her and set off a chain reaction of emotions that reflected in her fair face.

Miriel looked at Legolas with shining gray eyes, smiling, and his fingers brushed tenderly over her cheek as she drew near for a shared kiss.

Gimli had had quite enough.

"All right, you immortal lovebirds," called Gimli as he climbed to his feet. "Let's eat some breakfast and get out of here. You seem to forget that we are in a mad hurry to make the Gap of Rohan."

Legolas and Miriel laughed good-naturedly and returned to camp. After they had eaten, they packed up their few belongings and the three travelers were riding swiftly through Fangorn. They spoke quietly together and laughed often. Miriel and Gimli had become fast friends, and they enjoyed one another's company, which pleased Legolas beyond words.

Legolas rode a little ahead, for he was anxious that they might be approaching the borders of Fangorn and he wanted to keep a lookout for any intruders. Miriel dropped back beside Gimli, and Gimli spoke glowingly of the unmatched beauty of Galadriel, the Lady of the Golden Wood. Galadriel was a great Elven queen who dwelt in the fair woods of Lothlorien, and Gimli had met her for the first time when the fellowship was still together and they desperately needed shelter and protection from Orcs.

"I had my misgivings about her at first," admitted Gimli. "I had heard much about her terrible power, which she does indeed possess. But I was pleasantly surprised. The Lady is wise and good as well as lovely far beyond thought or imagination, and she received me with kindness although I am a Dwarf. When we parted, she gave me this."

Gimli held up three shining golden strands gingerly between his roughened thumb and forefinger as if he were displaying one of the world's greatest treasures.

"What are they?" asked Miriel.

"These are three locks of Galadriel's hair," answered the Dwarf in a tone of awe Miriel had never heard him use before. "I am called the Elf-friend and the Lockbearer. I am honored that I have found such favor in her eyes."

"Wow," said Miriel.

"Indeed," Gimli replied, putting the three precious golden strands away again. He laughed suddenly. "You know, only a year ago I would have never dreamed of saying anything like that about the Elves. I hated Elves. Poor Legolas had to put up with a lot before we came to an understanding. Not that I'll stop giving him a hard time now that we know each other better," the Dwarf put in quickly.

Legolas glanced back and grinned warmly at Gimli. Miriel knew Legolas and Gimli had much more between the two of them than a simple understanding.

"So where is this Galadriel now?" Miriel asked.

"Back in Lothlorien," answered Gimli, looking sad all at once. "But my heart forebodes that she will not long remain. The Lady was the holder of one of the Rings of Power, and that power passed away when the One Ring was cast into the fires and destroyed. She knows that the time of the Elves is coming to an end, and the age of Men is about to begin. She foretold it herself. It will not be long before she forsakes Middle-earth and takes ship to the Undying Lands. I may never see her again."

Gimli fell silent.

"I'm sorry," said Miriel quietly, not knowing what else to say.

Gimli swallowed hard and started to respond, but at that moment the black unicorn halted and snorted. He brandished his golden horn and then stood with his ears eagerly pricked forward. Legolas stiffened and threw up a warning hand. The conversation came to an abrupt end, and Miriel immediately pulled her hood lower over her face as Legolas stared hard through the trees.

"What is it?" Miriel ventured in a low voice.

"A company of soldiers," Legolas hissed back. "We are not far from the eaves of Fangorn. We cannot cross the Gap of Rohan now, in the daylight, and if we stay here we will soon be discovered. We must go, quickly. This way! Follow me!"

At a word from Legolas the black unicorn sprang lightly away, and Miriel's white doe, Alphlos, and the horse Kaspir were swiftly on his heels. They headed northward, and Miriel knew Legolas was taking them to thicker and more tangled forest for a reason. They would be harder to find in this remote area, and the soldiers would not go deeper into Fangorn than was necessary. There were many dark tales about Fangorn that lingered in the back of their minds, and even under the reign of the new king it would take time and a lot of courage before they undertook an adventure into those fabled woods.

Miriel was half afraid of Fangorn also, for she had heard the stories since she was a child, but she felt safe with Legolas, Elf and forest-dweller that he was. Miriel would go anywhere with Legolas if he asked, even into the land of Mordor. She trusted him with an almost reckless confidence, and she herself knew it, but she was of the mind that nothing could harm her while she had Legolas's unfailing love and his trusty bow close at hand.

So Miriel kept her eyes fixed on Legolas while their steeds wound their way through the trees, running when they were able. Gimli glanced continuously over his shoulder, and his hand strayed often to the hilt of his axe and he patted it as if for reassurance. Legolas stared through the woods, seeing things beyond the sight of mortal Men, listening to the trees as they spoke to one another in their own fashion. Legolas adjusted course several times, and Miriel wondered what sort of things the trees were saying.

At last he stopped in a sheltered glade. Miriel and Gimli came up behind him.

"We will stay here this afternoon," Legolas declared. "We will attempt the Gap of Rohan at midnight."

Miriel imagined that Gimli looked a little uncomfortable and shivered slightly in the shadow of the trees, but Miriel slid from the white doe's back and stood quietly stroking the swan-like neck without fear.

"I wish we were out of these woods," muttered the Dwarf.

Legolas turned and looked at him. A light of pity was in his eyes, for he knew better than anyone how the Dwarf must have felt in such alien elements, and one that Gimli had once viewed as enemy territory to be avoided at all costs.

"Tomorrow you shall have your wish, Gimli," said the Elf. "We will leave the forest behind and ride along the banks of the River Isen. You won't see another tree for a long time, and perhaps you will even come to miss them."

"I highly doubt that," retorted Gimli.

"We shall see," Legolas returned lightly. "There will be no shelter along the Isen, and we will be quite vulnerable. It is fortunate for us that not many creatures of any race dwell in that part of the land, but we will still be in far greater danger of being discovered."

Gimli sobered and did not reply.

The three travelers sat and spoke quietly together while the afternoon waned. They took their usual meal of Lembas, and Gimli slept for awhile, and Legolas and Miriel kept watch. The horse, the unicorn and the doe grazed nearby. Kaspir and the two new animals had become fast friends.

Legolas and Miriel talked while the shadows lengthened and the sky darkened as twilight descended upon them. The stars came out, and only the soft sound of Gimli's snoring disturbed the perfect unrippled stillness of the evening.

"I'm concerned about him," said Miriel, indicating the sleeping Dwarf. "After we're gone, he will be quite alone. Sometimes I think he won't know what to do with himself."

"I feel the same, in a lot of ways," Legolas replied, looking down on Gimli tenderly. "We've been together for so long and passed side by side through many dangers. I don't know what I'd do without him at this point."

"We should do something for him," Miriel decided. "We can't just leave him here."

"I have been thinking about it," answered Legolas. "But I haven't come to a solution."

"Why can't he come sail with us to Valinor?" asked Miriel.

Legolas looked at Miriel in surprise. "Uh, I don't think that's an option," he replied slowly.

"Why not?"

"Well, no Dwarf has ever gone to the Undying Lands before," Legolas answered. "In many parts of Middle-earth, our peoples are still at war. The two of us would be enemies also if it we were not thrown together by fate and the undertaking of the quest to destroy the One Ring. I do not think the other Elves would welcome him if he showed up uninvited."

"Your feelings toward him eventually changed, as did Galadriel's," Miriel pointed out. "Why shouldn't theirs? We're going to be there for all eternity, you know. They would come to appreciate him in time."

Legolas squirmed uncomfortably. "It wouldn't be- proper," he faltered.

"Why?" Miriel shot back fiercely, and her eyes sparked like fire. "Because it's never been done before? Is there some sort of Elf-rule carved in stone stating, 'Dwarves cannot dwell beyond the Seas because- well, because they're Dwarves'?"

Legolas was silent. He did not look at Miriel, but he seemed to be pondering her words.

"That's simply not fair to Gimli," continued Miriel passionately. "He has risked his own neck for the Elves on many occasions, and not just you either, Legolas. His brave actions and valor on the battlefield have resulted in the downfall of Sauron, the greatest threat to all the civilizations of Middle-earth! That includes the Elves. All of us owe him an unpayable dept. Gimli should be able to go wherever he wishes, even to Valinor. Surely he deserves that much!"

A smile spread over Legolas's face. He gazed Miriel, his blue eyes shining with love.

"I can't argue with you when you talk like that," he said.

"That's because I'm right, and you know it," Miriel declared without relenting.

Legolas bent forward and tenderly kissed her brow.

"I believe you are, too," he replied. "I will think hard about everything you've said."

Miriel softened at once and allowed her feelings to shine through unhindered. "Thank you," she whispered.

"No, thank you, Lady Miriel," Legolas answered.

Suddenly Legolas glanced up at the moonless skies. He stood up and helped Miriel to her feet.

"Time to go, Sleepy," he declared, bending down and nudging the object of their most recent discussion from his deep slumbers.

They set off through the woods, as silent as passing shadows. They moved slowly in the darkness. Miriel found she could see without trouble, and she knew Legolas could also, but Gimli grumbled and grouched behind them.

"I can't see the hand in front of my face, much less tell where I'm going," muttered the Dwarf.

"Do not worry. I will not lead you astray," promised Legolas.

Miriel solved the problem by riding behind Gimli while Legolas led them among the trees. She could warn Gimli if she saw any obstacle, such as a low branch hanging in his way.

At last, Miriel looked ahead and saw the trees growing sparse and allowing a measure of silvery-blue light to fall upon the land ahead. They had reached the end of Fangorn Forest. Legolas had stopped and was studying the distant horizons, a dark silhouette outlined in silver and crowned with stars and mounted upon a black unicorn who stood still as a statue.

"We made it!" Miriel cried, coming up beside him.

"Stay quiet," warned Legolas, his blue eyes sparkling in the starlight. "There is an encampment of soldiers over yonder. We must yet slip past them unnoticed."

Gimli surged ahead of Legolas in his haste to leave the dark woods behind and he took Kaspir quickly beyond the trees. On the very edge of the forest, Alphlos and Alagos, the black unicorn and the white doe, came to a sudden stop and would not venture a step further. Miriel was upset.

"What's wrong with them?" she hissed.

"This is it," Legolas whispered back, jumping to the ground. "We have to let them go. Fangorn is their home, and they have served us well and loyally, but their time with us is up. Their debt has been paid."

Miriel reluctantly slid from the snowy back of Alphlos.

"I shall miss you both," she said sadly, stroking the smooth white neck. The doe looked steadily at Miriel. Miriel gazed into the dark unblinking depths of the eyes of Alphlos and felt that somehow the doe understood her words.

Legolas stood before Alphlos and Alagos and solemnly placed his hand upon the foreheads of each. The doe and the unicorn bowed side by side before the Elves, as they had done in the enchanted glade at their first meeting.

"Hannon le," Legolas murmured as he blessed them. "Navaer! Brono a noro breg am en calenhad!"

Instantly Alphlos and Alagos sprang away and were immediately swallowed up by the trees and lost in the shadows of Fangorn, even to Miriel's Elf eyes. Slowly the Elves turned and walked to where Gimli was waiting on Kaspir.

"Now what are you gonna do?" asked the Dwarf. "I don't think all three of us can fit up here."

Legolas smiled and took Miriel's hand.

"We'll walk," Legolas answered simply, and they set off. Gimli followed them at a slower pace.

"As usual, Legolas has the perfect solution," Gimli commented wryly. "Leave it to an Elf to state the obvious!"

Legolas did not answer. Miriel heard Gimli mumbling something under his breath about how much more time the journey would take with the Elves now on foot as they left the shelter of the forest.


	28. THE RIVER ISEN

THE RIVER ISEN

They crept through the Gap of Rohan. There were no trees or bushes to provide any sort of cover; they were out in the open and vulnerable. They could see torches burning in the distance. A large company of Rohirrim was camped upon the hillside. They were in danger of being spotted even though they were so far away.

Legolas and Miriel ran crouched low to the ground, covered by their dark cloaks, and Gimli trotted after them on Kaspir.

They traveled in this stealthy and uncomfortable fashion for several hours across the Gap of Rohan. They were swiftly passing the encampment, and as the firelight faded Miriel began to breathe easier. In a short time they would be beyond danger.

Suddenly, without any warning, Gimli sneezed.

It was a tremendous Dwarvish sneeze that rattled the mountains and echoed in the hills. Legolas and Miriel instantly froze. The sound had shattered the still night. There was no way the Rohirrim could have missed it.

Miriel glanced at Gimli in horror, who was holding his nose tightly in case another sneeze followed the first.

"Come on!" hissed Legolas, and they began to run. Miriel kept a cautious eye on the glimmering torches, and she fancied that several of them were bobbing in their direction, as though carried by riders sent out to scout the area.

"I think they're coming!" Miriel cried.

"This way!" ordered Legolas. He changed direction and made for a rock that jutted out into the bare land. They had reached the foot of the mountains without a moment to spare. Miriel could feel the hooves of the horses shaking the earth behind them. She only hoped that the lack of moonlight would be enough to conceal them from the eyes of the men. If they were discovered, Miriel did not know with certainty what would happen, and she forced herself not to think of it.

They dove out of sight behind the wall of stone. There was a cleft in the rock which was nothing more than a shallow nook, but Legolas motioned wildly for Miriel to go in. Miriel pressed herself against the cold rock and pulled Kaspir after her. She clamped a firm hand over Kaspir's nostrils as Gimli cowered low over the horse's neck. Kaspir threw back his head in protest to the pressure, but Miriel held on tightly and the horse stood still.

Legolas came in last of all. He spread his arms wide and covered the yawning opening as well as he could with the gray Elven cloak he was wearing. And then they waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

The Rohirrim were getting closer. Miriel's heart pounded in her chest so hard she was sure the soldiers could hear it. She ducked deeper into the shadows as the riders came into view. The yellow light of their torches threw golden sparks from their shining armor and illuminated the barren plain around them, and Miriel could see them plainly through the thin material of Legolas's cloak.

Miriel was frightened. At any moment they would be discovered. The torches would dispel the shadows surrounding her and expose the three travelers immediately. If they were not killed at once by the suspicious soldiers, only Elbereth knew what would happen if Miriel was revealed as an Elf.

Then the Rohirrim were upon them. It was a company of about twenty soldiers, and they held their torches high and glanced in every direction, looking presumably for the sneezing trespasser. Miriel froze against the cold gray stone, a potato-sized knot in her throat; but the riders swept by their hiding place without a second glance. Miriel did not dare to breathe until the Rohirrim disappeared over the hills and were lost to sight. Gimli cautiously sat up in the saddle.

"Why didn't they see us?" he wondered aloud, staring after them.

"I don't know," Legolas replied. "It's these Elven cloaks. They fooled the Rohirrim before," he added with a small smile at a distant memory. "But let's not place all our trust in them! We were lucky this time, but dawn is fast approaching and the Rohirrim will soon return. Let us be off!"

Legolas led the way as they ran once more across the remainder of the Gap of Rohan, heading away from the mountains and due west. As a thin light appeared in the eastern sky, they caught a faint silvery glimmer ahead. Legolas quickened his pace, and as they neared it Miriel could see that it was rapidly flowing water.

"The River Isen!" Legolas declared with a note of triumph.

They raced swiftly along the eastern bank while the Isen wound its way southward. Miriel was excited and apprehensive at once, for the river was a constant reminder of the nearness of the Sea and the inevitable adventure and bitter parting to come. She tried not to think too far into the future and focused instead on savoring the present, for with Legolas bounding at her side and Gimli riding behind her she could not have been happier even despite the danger.

When Legolas finally judged that they were far enough away from the soldiers to avoid detection, Miriel was relieved. Being an Elf gave her an additional stamina that she was not accustomed to; but even so she was beginning to feel worn when they slowed to a walk. Gimli nodded gently as he rode Kaspir and dropped off in the saddle, but Miriel and Legolas did not need sleep. They strolled side by side, leading Kaspir by the reins and talking softly all night until the dawn came.

The sun peeped over the horizon and cast a golden glow over the River Isen. Miriel heard the usual sound of water as it churned and gurgled restlessly within its banks, but she also thought she could hear a high voice over the rushing flood, high and sweet, as if the river were singing as it flowed to the Sea.

"Legolas, do you hear that?" she asked.

"Hear what?"

"The river has a beautiful voice!" Miriel cried.

"All waters have their own song," answered Legolas.

"It's a wonder I never noticed it before!" Miriel breathed.

Legolas smiled knowingly. "You're an Elf now, remember?"

Miriel's eyes widened, and then she laughed.

"I never knew what I was missing!" she declared. "I want to take a closer look."

With that Miriel darted to the water's edge before anyone could stop her. She stood on a rocky cliff that rose slightly and overlooked the Isen.

"Miriel, look out!" warned Legolas, but he was too late.

Whether she leaned too far over the edge, or if the side of the cliff crumbled and gave way under her feet, Miriel could not tell. But one moment she was standing on firm ground, and the next she was in a swift freefall, hurtling towards the churning river. The horrible realization shot through her and turned her blood to ice, but she only had time for one bloodcurdling scream that abruptly ended when she hit the water.

"Miriel!" shouted Legolas.

In three enormous leaps he was at the cliff's edge, and without hesitation he threw himself into the river and plunged after Miriel.

Miriel came up choking.

"Legolas!" she cried out, but she was sucked under by the current.

"Hold on!" yelled Legolas, swimming toward her with powerful strokes.

Gimli saw what was happening. At once he left Kaspir and raced alongside on the shore, watching helplessly but hoping for an opportunity to save the two Elves who were at the mercy of the raging river. The Isen flowed swiftly, and the Dwarf had to run with all his might to keep up, grouching and grumbling about his sore feet and the uneven ground and the curiosity of the nature-loving Elves and just about anything else he could gripe about as he plodded over the rocks.

Miriel surfaced again, coughing and gasping for air. She was panicked; she did not know how to swim. Her eyes and nose and ears were full of water. Miriel was nearly drowned as she was caught in the rapids and carried away.

"Legolas!" she cried again.

"Swim! Swim toward me!" begged the Elf.

"I can't!" Miriel sputtered.

"Try!" Legolas yelled back. "Move your arms, like this! Look at me! Fight the river!"

Miriel slowly began to struggle. She was swept under, then bobbed at the surface like a cork, weeping helplessly. The water was ice-cold, and it stiffened her body and numbed her senses. She was crying as she struggled painfully against the swift current, trying desperately to reach Legolas, who was doing his level best to save her. She tried to mimic his strong, fluid strokes, but she was making no progress. The song of the Isen no longer seemed pleasant to Miriel's ears, but was growing louder and louder and quickly rising to a deafening roar like that of a hungry monster.

Just then Gimli gave a shout of warning from the riverbank.

"Legolas! There's a huge waterfall ahead, coming up quick! You have to hurry!"

Legolas redoubled his efforts and called out to her.

"Swim, Miriel!" he urged, as the river swept her around a bend. Miriel drifted out of sight, and Legolas swam with all his might after her. When Legolas found her again, Miriel was wearily fighting against the current with what seemed to be the last of her strength. She was fading fast.

Gimli was alternating his nervous glance between the Elves and the upcoming waterfall. They were getting too close for comfort. The roar of the Isen was reaching its highest pitch.

"Hurry, Legolas!" the Dwarf called anxiously.

Suddenly Legolas paled.

"Miriel, look out!" he shouted, but he was too late.

Miriel glanced back in time to see a massive boulder looming in her path. She gave a short scream as the Isen slammed her into the rock. The rushing water pinned her against the stone, and then slowly Miriel fell and sank motionless beneath the foaming white river. She did not come back up.

"Miriel!" Legolas yelled. He dove and vanished under the boiling water.

"Legolas!" shouted Gimli. He peered into the dark depths, but he could see nothing.

Time passed. Still there was no sign of either Miriel or Legolas. Gimli was getting very worried. He ceased running and paced on the riverbank, staring at the steep brink of the falls, then back to the place called The Point of No Return. If the Elves had drifted beyond it, there was no hope for them.

Whether a few seconds or many long minutes passed by, Gimli could not tell. The Dwarf was beginning to wonder if he would ever see the Elves again when after an eternity Legolas suddenly reappeared, swimming doggedly to shore, fighting the terrific force of the Isen with one arm and dragging an unconscious Miriel behind him with the other.

Gimli flew down to meet them. He half-stumbled, half-slid down the rocky cliffs until he reached the water's edge, and he seized a bedraggled Legolas by his clinging wet tunic and hauled him onto solid ground. Then together they pulled a limp, unconscious Miriel from the deadly clutches of the Isen and laid her in a patch of dry golden reeds that grew on the bank.

"Miriel!" cried Legolas. "Miriel, can you hear me? Say something!"

He hovered anxiously over her, panting and dripping. Gingerly he placed two fingers on her neck to feel for a pulse. The pained expression on Legolas's face told Gimli that Miriel's condition was grim.

"Is she alive?" Gimli asked nervously, dreading the answer.

"Yes, barely," answered Legolas, frowning. "Her heartbeat is very faint."

Legolas bent over Miriel's motionless form and seized her by the shoulders. He shook her desperately and called her name. Miriel did not move. Legolas shook her harder.

"Come on, Miriel," he cried. "Come on, breathe!"

Suddenly Miriel stirred and choked. Legolas sat back, exhausted but relieved.

"Thank goodness," muttered Gimli.

Miriel slowly came to. Her eyes fluttered open, and the blurry faces over her reluctantly came into focus. She coughed until the last of the riverwater came out of her lungs, and then she lay back wearily as she began to breathe normally.

"Legolas," she whispered.

Legolas gave her a weary smile, but he could not speak. It was Gimli who found words for them both.

"You gave us quite a scare, my lady," said the Dwarf. "I thought we lost you when you hit that nasty boulder. From now on, I won't allow any more river diving on this trip. You hear me?"

Miriel closed her eyes and nodded, for she was too weak to laugh. She was aware of a dull pain in her head, and she reached up and gingerly touched her temple. Her finger came away red with blood.

"I imagine that would be from the rock you collided with," put in Gimli. "You stay right there and rest, and I'll get something to bind it." The Dwarf jumped up and ran off without another word.

"_He's turning into a worried old woman,"_ thought Miriel to herself with some amusement. But she said nothing aloud because she appreciated his concern for her. While she waited, her own concern turned to another.

"Legolas," whispered Miriel when they were alone. "Are you all right?"

Legolas looked down at her incredulously.

"You're the one we barely managed to drag from the river, unconscious, and you want to know if I'm all right?" he asked, but his gaze was soft and tender. "Of course I'm fine. But that would not be the case if I had lost you."

Miriel glanced at Legolas and saw his blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. She reached out and found his hand and held it tightly, for she could not speak.

"How are you feeling, my lady?" said Legolas.

"I have a headache," Miriel answered, with a little smile. "And my teeth are chattering from cold. But I'm not drowned."

Legolas smiled grimly and pulled himself closer to her, and he firmly rubbed her upper arm to both warm her and comfort her. It worked. Miriel relaxed under the gentle touch and closed her eyes.

Gimli soon returned, towing Kaspir behind him and waving a long strip of white cloth. But every now and again, he glanced over his shoulder nervously.

"I'm worried," declared Gimli as he came up. "Surely someone will have heard all that commotion."

Legolas stiffened and looked around as if listening intently.

"The birds are silent," noted Legolas finally. "Gimli is right. We must leave this place at once." He turned to the Dwarf. "Lend me your cloak, Master Dwarf."

Gimli willingly handed over his gray Elven cloak, and Legolas covered a shivering Miriel with it. Then Legolas bent over Miriel and tenderly bound the wound on her forehead, pausing and apologizing whenever she winced in pain. Miriel bit her lip and tried to be brave until Legolas was finished.

"There," said Legolas at last, sitting back and studying his work. "Now we are ready. Can you walk, Miriel?"

"I- I think so," answered Miriel as she struggled to sit up. Legolas placed a supporting arm around her shoulders, but Miriel's knees were shaking from cold or fright, or perhaps both, and she could not straighten them. Her feet slipped out from under her, and Miriel gave up and fell back on the ground.

"It's no use," grumbled Miriel with little spirit. "My legs are like jelly."

Legolas climbed to his feet and looked down at Miriel.

"That's all right," Legolas replied, suddenly smiling like the sun. "I'll carry you."

"Absolutely not!" protested Miriel indignantly. "You can't carry me!"

"Why not?" asked Legolas.

Miriel looked away and was silent.

"Because you'll tire yourself," she returned at last, lamely.

Legolas laughed. "Nonsense! You're light as a feather! But even were you made of solid lead, still I would bear you to the edge of Middle-earth and back."

Miriel frowned darkly at her quavering knees. "I can walk," Miriel insisted stubbornly. "Just let me rest a minute."

Light dawned on Legolas.

"You don't like being dependent on anyone, do you?" he asked slowly.

Miriel sighed and glanced up at Legolas. She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again and looked away.

"I hate being a burden," she admitted.

Legolas stood quietly, looking thoughtfully down at Miriel. Suddenly he swooped down and caught up Miriel in his strong arms.

"Then it's high time you learned to be one!" he declared, smiling broadly.

Miriel laughed out loud, and clung rather nervously to Legolas's neck as he bore her up the steep, rocky cliffs.

"Don't worry, I won't drop you," promised Legolas, grinning at her discomfiture. "Don't pinch! Loosen your death-grip! Don't look down! I won't take a wrong step. I have very good balance. Just trust me."

But Miriel shut her eyes and went rigid in his arms and refused to look as Legolas climbed. In a flash she realized that trusting someone other than herself was difficult for her, and that it always had been, but she dared to say nothing until they were upon the safe footing of the golden plains. Gimli led Kaspir to a large rock and mounted (rather expertly, Miriel thought proudly), and they set off with the late morning sun warming their backs.

"What did you mean when you said, 'It's high time you learned'?" Miriel asked presently.

"I was talking about learning to depend on someone else," Legolas answered.

"Why is that important?" puzzled Miriel, frowning up at him.

"Because you give much and receive nothing," Legolas explained. "That is a wonderful thing, to a point. You are a giving person, and it is very beautiful to see. But to lean on another, especially when you are weak, teaches you humility. Humility breeds gratefulness, and gratefulness leads to trust. I know it is dangerous, though! You leave yourself vulnerable when you depend on another. You can be easily hurt when you place yourself at the mercy of someone else! But Miriel, tell me truly: Do you love me?"

"Of course I love you," replied Miriel quickly.

Legolas fixed his dazzling blue eyes upon hers.

"Do you trust me?" Legolas pressed.

Miriel swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Legolas. I trust you," she answered.

"Then depend on me," urged Legolas gently. "You are safe with me. I will never let you down."

Miriel sighed, and the tension seemed to leave her limbs. She leaned her head against Legolas like a small child and wearily closed her eyes.

"That's the way," Legolas encouraged her tenderly. "Receiving keeps your heart from running dry. Later, you will find it easier to give to other people when you learn to trust and receive. Now rest, and be at peace."

"Thank you, meleth nin," Miriel whispered without opening her eyes.

Miriel's head nodded, and within moments she seemed to be asleep. But Legolas knew that Miriel was only resting fitfully in Elven-fashion by blending daylight and dream. Although Miriel was an Elf and no longer had any need of sleep, she was worn from the terror of her adventure with the River Isen and had fallen deeper into unconsciousness than usual.

It did her a lot of good, for by sunset she had nearly fully recovered from her injuries besides a lingering stiffness and a few bruises, but once she was awake she was able to walk on her own. Miriel gave Gimli his cloak back and showered him with thanks, which the Dwarf accepted rather gruffly. But Miriel could tell Gimli was pleased.

By the next afternoon, the Isen made a sharp turn to the right and headed straight into the West. Legolas looked wistful.

"It won't be long now," he told Miriel with a sad smile.

Miriel clutched his hand.

"Do not dwell on our parting," urged Miriel. "Instead try to remember that this separation is only temporary, and then all of eternity will be ours to spend together. Fate has been very kind to us, and we must not grudge the little inconveniences along the way when suddenly the impossible is within our grasp."

"You're right, of course," replied Legolas with a sigh. "But I can't help it."

"I know. Me neither," Miriel confided. "But let's not speak of it! We will each treasure the memory of these golden days, and perhaps it will cause the years in-between to fly by all the swifter."

And so they walked.

That afternoon, Gimli roused himself when he felt Kaspir come to an abrupt halt. He looked up sharply and saw Legolas running lightly through the golden fields ahead of them.

"What's he up to?" Gimli muttered to Miriel.

Miriel shrugged. She was just as mystified as the Dwarf.

"I have no idea," she answered.

They watched as the Elf stopped on a gentle rise and stared into the bright blue skies as if looking for something. He turned toward the east and sent a shrill piercing whistle into the wind.

"Ow! Stop it, Legolas! That hurts my ears!" Gimli complained.

Miriel said nothing. Legolas did not move and nothing happened. They waited, Miriel curiously bewildered and Gimli irritatedly impatient. The Dwarf shifted restlessly in the saddle and grumbled.

"What does that crazy Elf think he's doing? Calling the sun? Coaxing it from one horizon to the next? I know he wants to travel at night, but does that mean he has to be so eager for its arrival?"

"He's up to something," answered Miriel soothingly. "Try to be patient, Gimli."

Suddenly there was an answering cry to Legolas's summons. Miriel jerked her head upward and spotted a lone bird of prey swooping down on them, shrieking as it came, its sharp talons spread wide as if to attack.

"Look out!" she shrieked, diving to the ground in a wild panic as the terrible shadow swept over her. But the bird flew above Miriel without touching her or heeding her desperate cry. It came to rest on Legolas's waiting arm.

Miriel picked herself up gingerly and dusted off her dress, but she did not take her eyes from the strange sight. Legolas seemed to be whispering in the great bird's ear.

_If birds had ears to whisper into,_ thought Miriel wryly.

The bird, which Miriel could see was a large hawk covered with dark brown feathers, listened intently and even, Miriel fancied, nodded in some kind of consent or agreement. For a long time the odd pair seemed to be conversing, and then with the hawk spread its giant wings and with a mighty leap hurled itself into the air. It whirled into the eastern sky and was soon lost to view.

"Legolas, what was that all about?" cried Miriel as the Elf returned.

"We will know soon enough," answered Legolas mysteriously. "I will tell you then."

He left no room for argument, and the travelers continued on their way. As the day wore on, Miriel soon managed to forget about the unusual encounter.

She lost herself in the beauty of nature around her. It was autumn, and the fields were ripe and golden. Shredded clouds streamed across the blue skies like white maiden's hair. The last flowers were fading in the grass, and tiny creatures of Middle-earth scrambled about frantically, gathering food to store away and lining their holes with cozy bits of leaves and other vegetation in preparation to hibernate. Miriel had seen this same saga take place every year since she was a child, but now, as an Elf, she could almost feel in her own heart the desperate panic of the little animals as they sensed the first bite of coming winter in the air. She glanced at Legolas and wondered what it must have been like to be born an Elf, and if Legolas even noticed the small goings-on of nature anymore, or if it was so normal that he was used to it.

"Legolas, tell me something about Mirkwood," said Miriel after a while. "What is it like to be a Elf from the Woodland Realm?"

Legolas smiled at her, his blue eyes softening as he looked into hers.

"There are many things I could tell you about life in Mirkwood," Legolas replied. "What would you like to know?"

"I'm not sure, really. I want to hear all about it. I'm sure there is far more to tell than you have time to tell it. So what was your favorite part?"

"It's hard to say. Perhaps the changing of the seasons," Legolas answered thoughtfully. "Most Elves love the Spring, when all things bloom renewed and shine afresh, casting off cloaks of winter frost and turning lush and green in the warm sunlight. But I think Mirkwood is at its loveliest in the fall, and I wish you could have been there to see it, Miriel, even just once! Although I have seen the seasons of thousands of endless years, I never tired of it.

"It is happening even now as we walk on this road, Miriel. There is nothing in this world so fair as walking down an autumn road through forests aflame with vibrant color. Great flocks of geese rush overhead, gilded in the setting sun as they wing their way ever southward.

" 'To the Sea! To the Sea!' they cry as they set out on a long journey to follow the sun, for the wind brought them tidings of change. A spicy scent permeates the air, and the days are clear and cloudless and pale. The Elves prepare to retreat indoors before the first frost.

"When I dwelt in Mirkwood, I remember Elven-children and ageless maidens dancing, ever young; and golden fields of wheat that waved gently in the breeze, bidding a sad and fond farewell to yet another season gone by. There are no more Elven-children that play in Mirkwood, for the time of the Elves is at an end. It is now nothing more than memory, but the bittersweet autumns linger still, and will return year after year and remind those that come after us of things that once were, even after the last of the Elves has forsaken Middle-earth."

"You take my breath away," declared Miriel, watching him wondrously. "Listening to your words makes me feel as if I had been there."

Legolas turned his head and smiled gently at her, but his eyes were a little sad; Miriel understood his expression because Middle-earth was changing and there was nothing anyone could do about it. She could feel it like Legolas did. Even though she had been an Elf for so short a time, she was just as grieved by the passage of time as he; the loss of things good and beautiful. Miriel leaned her shoulder against him, and Legolas smiled at her comforting gesture and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. He forgot his melancholy troubles for awhile as watched the wind play with her hair, sending thin brown tendrils floating delicately around her fair face. He thought about the eternity that lay before them, and a thrill of joy shivered through his being.

Miriel caught his eyes on her and smiled lovingly up at him, and he leaned down and gave her a little kiss. Miriel put her hand on his cheek and kissed him back, and Legolas pulled her hand to his chest and held it close to his heart.

"I can't believe you're mine," Legolas breathed near her ear.

Miriel kissed his chin. "I can't wait to marry you when you come to Valinor," she answered. "Then I will truly be yours, and nothing will separate us."

They walked silently for a while, hand in hand, gazing into the distant horizon before them.

"What are some of the legends from Mirkwood?" Miriel asked presently.

Legolas looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"My mother told me many stories that she heard while she was a maidservant in the palace of Edoras," explained Miriel. "The lay of Luthien and Beren was especially captivating."

"It is," Legolas said with a smile. "It is one of the most well-known and widely-proclaimed stories of the Elves since it concerned not only my fair kindred, but a mortal as well. That tale came from Lothlorien, of course, and it is no legend. Most Elven-lore told among the race of Men is from the Golden Wood rather than my country, for the Mirkwood folk are even more secretive than the Galadhrim, if that were possible. I doubt that many songs from Mirkwood made it as far south as Meduseld."

"Tell me one now," begged Miriel.

"Very well. I will sing 'En Linnod o en Los Gwend', the Song of the Snow Maiden," returned Legolas. "It's one of my favorites. It's about an Elf named Brithla, which means 'Pearl' in Sindarin."

Brithla was an Elven-maid

in the morning of the world.

Under endless skies and diamond stars

She danced in fields of gold.

Her hair flowed dark as winter trees,

her skin was like falling snows,

her eyes as living gemstones gleamed;

her lips were a December rose.

The Elven-lord Castar beheld Brithla

as she danced upon the green.

"O one so fair and free," he sang,

"Won't you be my queen?"

Castar and Brithla walked together

like shadows in twilight,

and plighted their troth as they stood

on undying grass and flowers white.

Then Castar bid Brithla farewell

and went away to war,

leading Mirkwood's glorious force

against the hosts of Mordor.

Sorrowing the Elves returned

with ill tidings to tell:

Castar fought long and brave

but into Shadow fell.

Brithla dashed into the wood

her eyes ablaze with flame;

Into gathering darkness she fled

shouting her beloved's name.

Brithla's heart was broken,

her tears as shining silver fell.

Her calls faded into night

as she raced across the dell.

Suddenly a great storm blew,

a raging Northern tempest tossed;

Mirkwood melted into shapeless blur

and Brithla from the world was lost.

'Tis said in Mirkwood: When winter comes

and stormclouds choke the skies,

the voice of Brithla can still be heard

above the wind's shrill endless cries.

Her icy breath like silver frost

among the trees of Mirkwood blows,

but the flower Brithla will not touch

is one December rose.

Miriel choked back a little sob and wiped her eyes when he finished. "That's beautiful, even though it's so tragic," she said. "Is it a true story?"

"At least part of it is," answered Legolas. "Brithla and Castar truly dwelt in Mirkwood at one time, long before I was born. They fell in love and were going to marry in the spring, but Castar died while fighting Warg riders in the southern part of the wood. Brithla was devastated, and she ran into the forest, overwhelmed by her grief. Opinions differ as to whether she died of a broken heart, or if she was swallowed by the sudden blizzard."

"What if Brithla merely disappeared?" wondered Miriel thoughtfully.

"We will never know the truth," Legolas replied. "Sometimes Middle-earth keeps its secrets and refuses to give them up. But you could be right. Brithla was never found."

"What about the last two verses in the linnod?" asked Miriel. "I don't understand them."

"Every winter after that year, certain Elves declared that they saw Brithla amidst the swirling snowflakes, as if she were made all of translucent snow and ice. They could see her dark hair flowing, and her sad blue eyes crying silver tears. Then the wind would blow, and the vision would vanish. Other times, they could hear her voice crying out for Castar. Also, in the olden days, all flowers would fall under the spell of the frost and wither until the return of the spring sun. But after Brithla disappeared, the red roses would go untouched."

"Did you ever see Brithla yourself?" inquired Miriel excitedly, getting caught up in the enchanting tale.

"No," said Legolas. "There were a couple of times when I thought I heard her voice in the wind, but storms are known to play tricks on the ears, however keen they may be; even those of the Elves."

They walked silently for some time.

"I think the stories are true," declared Miriel suddenly.

Legolas brightened.

"So do I," he replied with a smile. "I always have."

Two days of endless golden plains by the silver shores of the River Isen passed uneventfully, except Miriel noticed Legolas looking often into the eastern horizon. She thought this was odd, since the Sea lay to the West and Miriel knew that Legolas's heart lay across the great ocean. She wondered if perhaps he was worried that they were being pursued by the Rohirrim, and she asked him about it.

"No, I don't think there is any more danger of meeting the Riders of Rohan," Legolas replied. "The end of Middle-earth approaches with each step we take. Men do not dwell in this barren land between the mountains and the Sea."

And he would say no more.

That afternoon, an ear-splitting shriek rent the air. Miriel glanced up to see the same hawk circling overhead and spiraling swiftly to earth.

"What is it with that bird?" wondered Miriel aloud.

"Wait here!" ordered Legolas, jumping ahead and putting out his arm as a perch for the great bird. The hawk landed on his arm, just as before, and they spoke quietly together. Then Legolas laughed gaily and sent the noble creature away. Miriel watched, perplexed, as Legolas came toward them dancing lightly over the tall grasses. He was smiling like the sun and shouting.

"Whatever has happened?" cried Miriel in bewilderment, but she was already catching the Elf's excitement. It was contagious.

"Oh-ho, Gimli, Gimli, Gimli!" Legolas gushed, whooping as he came on.

"Yes?" said the Dwarf mildly, but his wide eyes betrayed him. "Let's have it then. Out with it, and dispense with this foolishness."

"You get to come too!" Legolas burst out, pausing for an expected reaction.

There was none.

"What are you talking nonsense about, you lightheaded Elf?" Gimli muttered gruffly, but his unblinking gaze did not leave Legolas.

Legolas drew a deep breath and tried again. He could hardly contain himself.

"I just sent a messenger to Lothlorien. That hawk, you know. I had a question for the Lady Galadriel."

"Lady Galadriel!" Gimli cried. He no longer bothered to hide his interest. He leaned forward in excitement. "What did you tell her? What did she say? Speak quickly!"

"I asked her if you could sail with me to Valinor, and she said yes!"

There was a moment of stunned silence. Kaspir's reins dropped from a shocked Miriel's limp hand. Suddenly Gimli bounced in the saddle like an overexcited child at bedtime.

"Yahoo!" Gimli yelled, scattering a hidden flock of birds from the field which streaked away in a sudden panic. Gimli flew from the horse's back and did a funny little caper around the two Elves.

"The West! The West!" blustered the Dwarf. "I'm taking an Elven ship! With Legolas! I will see Galadriel again. Beautiful beautiful Galadriel! Praised be Galadriel!"

Miriel and Legolas laughed until they were quite helpless. Miriel turned shining eyes onto Legolas and touched his hand, and he gave her his attention.

"So you took my advice!" said Miriel to Legolas when she could speak.

"Of course. I told you I knew you were right," answered Legolas, looking very pleased as he watched the sturdy Dwarf leaping and shouting as he tried to run in every direction at once. "Now we're all going to be together in the end, as long as Gimli doesn't explode from an overdose of excitement before the time comes."


	29. INTO THE WEST: EPILOGUE

INTO THE WEST

The ceaseless crying of the distant gulls foreboded that their journey was coming to a swift end. Miriel tried not to let them bother her. She walked beside Legolas who held her hand as they spoke quietly of life and love. Miriel no longer wore the hood over her face since they had long passed the last of civilization, and her dark hair billowed freely in the wind.

But Legolas could not ignore the wailing gulls.

"It will be hard for me to not board that ship also," Legolas confided to her when they could see the gray birds swooping and diving through the dusty skies on the western horizon. "The sea calls my name and my true love is leaving for a place my heart longs to be. But King Aragorn needs me here, and I will not abandon him."

"I understand," said Miriel. She squeezed Legolas's hand affectionately and changed the subject.

"This has been the most wonderful time of my life," she declared. "I feel like a flower that has at last found the sun. I am blooming with radiance. The deepest yearnings of my innermost being have been fulfilled."

"To love and to be loved in return?"

"Well, yes, but..." Miriel faltered. "There are no words to describe how I feel, Legolas. I feel... whole. Complete. There are no more missing pieces. I can talk with you about anything and everything. I can open up and share my heart without fear."

"I know," returned the Elf, looking at her with an expression like the sun. "I look in your eyes, and I see the dawns of a thousand years that have not yet passed. In you I found a part of me that I didn't even know was missing."

"Right! That's it!" gushed Miriel. "That's exactly it. This is so awesome. I just can't believe it."

"Me neither. I often wonder if I'm dreaming. This can't be real."

"I KNOW I'm dreaming," answered Miriel, laughing at the sheer warmth of emotion that bubbled up in her heart. "But it's all coming true!"

There was nothing else to say. Legolas tenderly put his arm around Miriel, and they walked on in silence.

They could smell the salt in the air. They rounded a rocky bend and the Sea opened up before them, stretching endlessly on until it met the skies. They approached the shores and stood silently on the edge of the expanse. The sun was sinking low and blazed a fiery trail over the shimmering water. Miriel caught her breath.

"Wow!" she cried. She ran to the edge of the shore and put her hand up to the wrist in the clear waters. She pulled it out and watched, fascinated, as the crystal droplets fell from her fingertips back into the Sea.

"You feel it too," declared Legolas, coming up behind her. "The call of the Sea. You're an Elf now. At last you understand."

Miriel straightened up and looked across the endless expanse, and then turned to Legolas.

"I do, Legolas. I understand everything better than ever."

"You will not be sad when you sail, since you will be following your heart's desire," Legolas told her.

"No, Legolas," replied Miriel. "I do feel the pull of the ocean, it is true. But now I know why you would not leave Middle-earth and abandon our love. If I had the choice, I would do the same thing even now. I want to stay here with you."

"Oh, Miriel," murmured Legolas, pulling her close.

Suddenly a shadow fell over Miriel. She turned and beheld a great dark ship gliding into the harbor. All at once Miriel remembered her terrible dream about the black sails and Sauron's evil Eye laughing and pulling her away from Legolas. Miriel gripped Legolas in terror.

"Don't let it take me! Don't let it take me!" she cried franticly, clinging to the Elf. "It's going to swallow me! I don't want to go!"

Legolas held her and glanced from her frightened face to the ship and back again, and he spoke to her soothingly.

"It's all right, meleth nin," he comforted her, not knowing about her dream. "This ship was sent for you by Elbereth. She arranged for it to meet us here."

Miriel reluctantly opened her eyes and looked down at her feet, which she saw were not being dragged through the sand. Slowly she came to her senses, and the wave of wild fears subsided. It had only been a nightmare, Miriel realized, from the dark days of waiting in Rohan; the ship sailing through the still waters was hardly black or menacing. It was a beautiful craft, obviously wrought by the Elves. Simple yet ornate decorations adorned its golden sides and prow. Its construction was seamless, as if it were carved out of a single chunk of gold. The sails were made of the same material as Legolas's cloak, only it was shimmering pearl white instead of gray.

"I'm alright now, Legolas," Miriel assured him, resting her head against his chest and drawing comfort from his warmth and nearness, and the familiar sweet scent of the woodlands that clung to him. "It was just a nightmare I had once that frightened me."

Suddenly Miriel burst into floods of tears. "This is it," she cried.

Legolas looked ready to weep himself, but he held Miriel tightly and tried not to give way to his emotions. "Only for a little while, my love," he whispered in her ear.

Gimli discreetly turned Kaspir away and they walked off, leaving the Elves alone. Miriel and Legolas stood like silhouettes of ancient statues under the brilliant sunset. They spoke quietly until Miriel's tears stopped.

"Marry me," breathed Legolas suddenly.

Miriel turned her head so she could see him. "What?"

"Marry me," he repeated, smiling.

Miriel touched his cheek and returned the smile, and then she leaned against him and closed her eyes. He could feel her nodding consent on his shoulder.

"You know my heart is always yours, meleth nin."

Miriel felt something small and round pressed into her palm. Curiously she looked down to see what it was. It was her ring from Numenor, the one she had given Legolas. Legolas had found it after the battle with the Orcs on their way to Gondor and had been saving it for this moment.

"Take this," urged Legolas, and she glanced up at him before looking again to her ring. "So you'll have something to remember me by."

"I don't need a mere ring to help me remember you," Miriel responded quietly, and taking the Elf's hand she slid the ring back onto his finger and kissed it. "Keep it, Legolas. It's yours now. Where I am going, I will be safe. I'd feel better if it were with you."

Legolas nodded and did not speak, but he held her close. Miriel rested her head against his chest, and they stayed that way for many immeasureably long moments.

The dark ship moored itself near the shore. Legolas saw that there was no one on board the vessel. A smaller boat lowered itself into the water and glided silently to shore, glistening like white silver, waiting to ferry its passenger to the ship.

"It is time," said Legolas.

"Yes," agreed Miriel, but she did not turn toward the boat. She looked rather to the Dwarf, who was waiting and gingerly stroking Kaspir's face, while the black stallion looked him over and snuffed at him rather curiously. Kaspir shook his head and snorted, but he let Gimli run his rough hand down the length of his fine muzzle.

"Gimli!" Miriel called, coming up to him.

"My lady," replied the Dwarf in a husky tone, and he did not meet her eyes.

"It's been a lot of fun. I will dearly miss you," Miriel declared with emotion.

Gimli cleared his throat and could not answer. He nodded wordlessly.

"I look forward to seeing you in Valinor when you come sailing in with Legolas," Miriel added.

"Count on it," returned Gimli with a hint of his old roguish grin. "I'll be there."

Miriel softly stroked Kaspir's forehead for the last time. "Take good care of my horse for me, will you?" she asked wistfully.

Gimli nodded again. On impulse he clumsily took Miriel's delicate hand and kissed it, and then smiled up at her as he stepped back.

Miriel went back to the shore, and Legolas helped her into the boat. It was a sturdy craft, although lightweight, and it barely rocked when Miriel stepped into it.

Miriel did not let go of Legolas's hand. Her eyes were large and gray and glistening with unspilled tears.

"I will miss you terribly, Legolas," she whispered. "I don't want to say goodbye to you. I won't tell you goodbye. I can't."

Legolas drew her close and kissed her for a long time. Then he pulled back and pressed his forehead against hers, his hands folding warmly about the sides of her face, his fingers trailing softly over her cheeks.

"For only a little while, my love," comforted Legolas, looking into her eyes. "For only a little while."

"I will stand on the white sands, waiting and watching for you," Miriel promised. "And I will get the other Elves to teach me the rest of the Elven-tongue."

Miriel tried to laugh through her tears, and ended up sobbing instead until she could hardly breathe. Suddenly she lost her composure entirely and broke down. She took Legolas's hand and buried her face hard against it, gripping his knuckles until they turned white. Her tears flooded over his fingers and dripped into the palm of his hand.

"I can't do this," she choked out, shaking her head without looking up. "I'm sorry- I can't- I just can't-"

Legolas softly stroked her hair and raised her chin until her bleary eyes met his clear blue ones. Slowly her wracking sobs subsided as she looked at him.

"Yes you can, Miriel," he said. "You can. You are a strong woman. You can do this."

Miriel blinked and bit her lip as she nodded determinedly. Legolas gently brushed away her tears, and Miriel took a deep breath to still her crying. She clutched Legolas's hand tightly and kissed it, and held it against her soft cheek as the little boat began to move away. Her hand lingered in his until she drifted out of reach, and her fingers slipped from his. She clasped her hands together at her chest as if to hold on to the last precious feel of his warmth to carry with her to the Undying Lands.

The small craft bore her swiftly to the great golden ship, shining brightly in the dying sunlight, waiting to take her to Valinor, into the West. A rope ladder dropped from the side as Miriel approached, and she climbed it with little effort and stepped over the low railing onto the deck. The inside of the ship was even more beautiful than the outside, for it was done all in clear crystal with rich purple hangings. Miriel trod lightly upon the bright polished mirror-smooth surface but hardly noticed it, for she was still looking into the blue eyes of the Elf on the shore.

Suddenly a great gust of wind filled the pearlescent sails. Miriel caught her breath as it hit her in the face and whipped through her long dark hair. It was refreshing and soft, for it came from a land beyond the Sea. It spread through the sails until they snapped and tightened and began to strain with the force of the breeze. Slowly the ship began to move away from the rocky harbor, its golden prow cutting a smooth path in the shining waters before Miriel's feet.

Legolas and Gimli stood together, looking small and forlorn on the land that shrank into the distance as the ship set sail into the setting sun. Miriel held Legolas's gaze as long as possible until she could no longer see his eyes. Then Legolas and Gimli faded away, and Miriel lost sight of them.

Miriel stood still and silent, feeling heartbroken and empty. Clouds of gray gulls swarmed around the ship wailing mournfully. Miriel opened her eyes and looked at them through a vision blurred by tears.

Legolas mounted Kaspir and pulled Gimli up behind him, and they started back for Rohan on the way to Minas Tirith. They rode slowly and in silence until Gimli craned around and stole a glance at the Elf's face. He was surprised to see Legolas smiling softly and his sad blue eyes illuminated with a gentle glow.

"What are you thinking about?" demanded the Dwarf, somewhat miffed at being left out of whatever it was that made Legolas smile.

Legolas turned and looked at him, and then he gave a little laugh. "Miriel," answered Legolas. "And a sweet day that is yet to come."

Gimli raised one of his bushy eyebrows, but he was silent. He understood. He shifted on Kaspir's back and held on tighter to his immortal friend. They said no more as the black horse's hooves carried them ever eastward.

The sun sank below the waterline as the ship glided smoothly onward. Swiftly the ship drifted onto the High Seas, but the great waves that broke upon the strong sides of the ship did not cause Miriel to so much as lose her balance. Miriel felt her sorrow somehow falling away from her as they drew nearer to the Undying Lands. At last Miriel turned away from the receding horizon of Middle-earth in the East and walked to the prow.

Earendil appeared in the night sky and shone down on her. The star remained shining brightly, and the sun did not fall any further below the Sea as she chased it into the West. Her old life was fading away behind her, and a new adventure was about to begin. Invigorating winds buffeted her. She lifted her head and breathed deeply at the strangeness of the salt-tinged air that teased her face and rippled her long dark hair. It was fresh and clear, as no air she had breathed before; it blew away the last of Miriel's tears as it came straight from Valinor itself.

Valinor! The Isle of the Elves! The white crystal sands and forests of emerald green that lay beyond the gray mists which surrounded it! Every word reverently breathed of the Undying Lands that had ever reached her ears came back to her now and sang in her mind like a sweet and tangled melody that wove together to form a tapestry, a symphony of word and vision. She, Miriel, a peasant mortal girl from the wilds of Rohan, was to see that fabled land with her own eyes! She tingled with excitement at the mere thought in spite of herself.

And someday, far in the future, Miriel could see the shadow of things to come: Herself on that lovely shore, reunited with her one true love, as they stood together before the fair throngs of Elvenkind, hand in hand, both clad all in white, while they were joined together forever… never to be parted by any force of nature. Elf and wife. She longed to hear those words, to gaze into his blue eyes from beneath the silky gauze of the veil and then peer out at him as he lifted it away; to be swept into his arms for all eternity, to hear the soft cheering of the witnessing Elves as he pulled her close and kissed her under the endless skies beside the sparkling seas while something like flower petals fell from the heavens and drifted around them, as if the Valar themselves were celebrating the union. But Miriel and Legolas were only aware of each other as they drew ever closer and the kiss grew more passionate; their love being all the more intense for the struggles they had endured to reach that blessed day through the fire and darkness and the excruciatingly long waits and endless distances that separated them. But now, nothing could keep them out of each other's arms.

One day, that vision would congeal into reality, and then solidify into forever. The waiting would be hard, so very hard, but it was a small price to pay for what lie in store for them. In the meantime, she could give herself up to dreaming. Hope shimmered in the very winds and whispered to her of joys beyond comprehension. Miriel smiled. Their love was something out of legend.

Miriel drew a deep breath and stared boldly into the gathering twilight, ready for whatever was to come.

THE END

EPILOGUE

Legolas and Gimli stood beside the King the entire time of his rule, six-score and two years in all. They traveled throughout the land of Gondor and had many adventures together. The Elf and the Dwarf no longer rode together on the white horse called Arod. Gimli became quite a horseman in his own right and journeyed at Legolas's side upon a black horse named Kaspir.

When Aragorn died and Arwen passed away into Lothlorien, and their son Eldarion was crowned King, Legolas felt his work was complete and his time had come, and at last he followed the desire of his heart and sailed over the Seas. Gimli went with him, for he did not wish to leave his friend, and he wanted to look upon the beauty of Lady Galadriel once more.

The story of Miriel is remembered in no tale, for King Theoden had wanted it cast into verse, but he died in the battle of Pelennor Fields before the story could be recorded in the annals of Rohan. Miriel spent very little of her time in Edoras, but traveled abroad instead, and although she was a princess, she was still an adopted one; so there was little mention of her in the written histories of Rohan and her memory easily slipped from the minds of the people and passed beyond legend, especially after Eomer and Eowyn died.

But this story truly took place, and as for the meeting of Legolas and Miriel beyond the Seas, that is joy that one cannot even begin to imagine.


	30. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

It took me two months to write Miriel: Princess of Rohan. I wrote it during a time in my life where I was working 80 hours a week. I would come home, scarf down some food, write for four hours every night, get three or four hours of sleep (if I was lucky), and do it all over again. My health suffered significantly as a direct result, as I continued on the same strenuous schedule for four or five months, and it took me nearly a year to recover.

Despite its uncommonly swift completion, it has taken me four years to post it here on FFN. To all of you who stuck with it that long, thank you. To all of you who continually prodded and pleaded with me to finish posting it on FFN, thank you also. It wouldn't be completed here on FFN without you!

Miriel: Princess of Rohan was my very first attempt at a love story – and at JRR Tolkien-like fantasy. The way one views one's accomplishments through life changes: Mothers always treasure your very first crayon drawings and keep them like priceless works of art in a box. (Have you noticed that?) During your teen years, and possibly into your tweens, you'll scorn such excuses for art while you strive to achieve more realistic works in mediums besides crayon. Only years later can you come to appreciate your first childish attempts to recreate the world around you on a piece of paper.

I watched a special on Carole King, the enormously popular songwriter, the other night. She sat down at the piano and played songs from the very beginning of her career – songs with simplistic lyrics that were beyond silly. Carole readily admits it with a laugh.

I suppose I am reaching the point where I can look back with fond amusement on my earliest works, slowly but surely. At the same time, however, I remember the beauty of the tale I tried to craft when I wrote Miriel: Princess of Rohan. A child's imagination is just as beautiful, and sometimes – in the raw, innocent openness that has yet to be tainted by the cold rules of reality – even more beautiful.

Knowing what I know now about character development, the medieval world, and so many other contributing elements of a story like Miriel's, I literally am not capable of writing another story like it. I recently discovered this when I dusted off an old manuscript and began the long, slow process of editing and updating, and what a shock it was to find that I have so trained myself to write with greater complexity and wider vocabulary that I cannot turn back the clock.

Pick up a box of crayons and try to draw a picture just like the ones you scribbled when you were four. You'll see what I mean.

So here I leave this tale: A tribute to a simpler time in my life, when the greatest complications to love were between morality and immortality; when the greatest dangers to love came in monstrous black forms wielding jagged swords and snarling. But, no matter what they had to face, you just knew Legolas and Miriel would find each other in the end, and they would live happily ever after.

I sincerely hope that, no matter how complex and unpredictable and "professional" my later stories are, I will never lose that sense of beauty and the simple joy of true love. To everyone who has helped remind me of how beautiful the tale of Miriel really was, I owe you a debt of gratitude.

I also hope that you will find my later writings to be just as enjoyable and deeply satisfying. If you find the time, and if you wish to follow my writing journey further, I invite you to visit my profile page and look over many of the stories I have to offer. Then, if you feel further compelled, please leave me some reviews. I read – and am very grateful for! – each and every one.

My greatest wish is that my writing will, in some way, have enriched your life.

From my heart to yours,

Christina Lewis


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